


Be Here Now

by Phantoms_and_Foxgloves



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Castiel Learns to be Human (Supernatural), F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Self-Sacrifice, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22622737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phantoms_and_Foxgloves/pseuds/Phantoms_and_Foxgloves
Summary: He was afraid. He had never feared Death before. He’d lived with the possibility as a soldier of Heaven. He’d risked it when he’d fought through the bowels of hell to find the Righteous Man. He’d stood and faced it at Chuck Shurley’s home. He’d driven to find it when he’d followed Dean to Stull. And he’d never been afraid. Until now.
Relationships: Castiel & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury & Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 25





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first Thirty Day OTP Challenge! I’ve been wanting to do one for a long time and I’ve decided to finally give it a go. To anyone who came here from my other WIPs, this is my way of jump-starting my writing schedule again in order to get more material out to you as soon as possible! I hope you don’t mind me taking a little step back to work on something else in hopes of sharpening my focus. To anyone new to my stuff, welcome! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it. I will be tripping face-first into some of my favorite tropes and I make no apologies for them. The title is taken from Ray Lamontagne's song of the same name, the lyrics of which are posted in full at the end of this chapter.  
> This fic takes place at the end/after Season 8, and is canon-divergent from there. Thirty chapters will come out over thirty days, but sometimes two will come out at once depending on my real-world schedule. As usual it's unbeta'd and all mistakes are mine. I’ve picked and chosen from a few different 30DOTP lists and reordered them a bit to make the story I wanted to tell, I hope no one minds.  
> As always feedback is immensely welcomed! Enjoy…

Castiel rolled to the side, gasping, spitting dirt and blood.

He burned.

His wings were burning. The light from Metatron’s exploding grace had nearly burned straight through him and blasted him out of Heaven entirely. He flailed in the mud, trying desperately to smother the flames before they consumed him. The Earth shrieked beneath him. The sky howled its roiling darkness. He clawed at his neck, trying to stop the grace that leaked from his slashed throat.

Metatron.

Castiel could still feel the horror rocketing through him he’d felt as he stared up at the diminutive vessel of The Word of God. He hadn’t even bothered strapping Castiel’s hands into Naomi’s chair, just held him down with the force of his will. Castiel could see it now. The soft sweaters and contralto voice had been carefully chosen to present as unthreatening a picture as possible. His grace had been locked down, pushed away into a corner to appear meek and safe. He’d unleashed it there as he stood over Castiel, a terrible wave of force. Metatron’s explanation, his gloating smile and soft voice, had sparked outrage and despair. Castiel had been deceived. Again. He’d been manipulated by another corrupt “servant” of Heaven serving nothing but his own twisted will.

“Heaven and angels and all this, it doesn’t concern you anymore.”

He’d smiled down at Castiel like a father as he softly placed the blade across his throat.

“You.” Metatron had shaken his head. “Stupid, sweet little angel. Searching for _God_ , searching for _meaning._ How easy was it to convince you that you of all people could set things right?”

Metatron had delighted in pointing out that it had been Castiel to bring about another disaster. Castiel to push creation closer to chaos. Metatron had boasted, taken demented joy in reminding Castiel how stupid and trusting he had been and each word wrenched at Castiel’s core with its burning truth. He’d been wrong. Again. He’d tried so hard…

But Metatron’s pride was his weakness. His absolute certainty that he had won as he stood over Castiel with vindictive glee in his eyes had heralded a mistake. He’d nicked Castiel’s skin and began sucking out his grace so slowly. He’d watched Castiel’s face as it twisted in pain, his watery eyes flaring wide as he shushed him like a child. His concentration on breaking Castiel’s will caused his own will to loosen, his dark elation as he drew out Castiel’s grace pulling his attention from the hold he had on the younger angel. It had been enough for Castiel to snatch the blade and turn it on him.

Pride goeth before destruction, indeed.

The resulting explosion of Metatron’s grace had expelled Castiel from Heaven. Violently. He had rocketed down to Earth trailing grace from the gaping wound in his neck. The impact was more painful than he could comprehend, tearing at him like rabid demons and burning like hellfire. He thrashed and screamed until he realized the fire was in his grace, not his physical form. He stilled, wings trembling. He gulped down oxygen, terrified to realize he actually needed it, and tried to think past the panic. He pressed his hands - that his vessel still functioned at all was astounding - across the gaping wound in his throat and tried desperately to coax his fleeing grace to heal the slash.

He felt the grace slowing, turning to regard him like a wary animal instead of a part of himself. _Please._ He called to it, _please do not leave me!_ His power ignored him, continued to flee, released to the universe as a wild raging ball of energy. He was dying. He could feel it.

_Please._

Slowly, a single tendril snaked away from the main flow. It hovered near him, curious and bright.

_Please._

The little wisp darted to him, knitting the skin and muscle and veins of his throat together with a warm, sharp flare. Breathing became easier and what was left of his grace swirled in his chest. The little tendril raced up his nose and he choked it down gratefully.

_Thank you._

He blinked up at the sky, watching the ripples of Metatron’s death flicker across the atmosphere. Angels all over the world would feel it, see it. It streamed from Heaven in every direction, destruction incarnate. Even mortals would see, the meteor shower raining down across the globe unmissable. 

_Castiel! Cas please! Sammy’s dying!_

Dean. Dean was praying, the desperation in his voice tearing at Cas’s heart. Cas threw himself to his feet, spreading his tattered wings wide. His grace sparked and he flapped, agony tearing across his shoulders as he took flight.

He landed heavily beside Dean in front of a burned-out church, collapsing to his knees. He felt unstable, like he was about to burst apart. Dean’s grip on his shoulder was grounding and shattering at the same time. He could _feel_ it, the heat of Dean’s palm, the crushing pressure of his fingers. Blood drooled from Cas’s lip as he looked up, struggling to focus his eyes on Dean. Dean looked… wrong. Normally Cas could see him in several dimensions, the beautiful sear of his soul nearly obliterating the simple physical reality of his face. But Cas’s vision was flickering back and forth, flashes of Dean’s soul nearly blinding him between the dull, fuzzy moments when he saw as a human.

“Cas?” Dean sounded horrified. Sam must be very near death now. That was one of the only things that scared Dean Winchester.

“Where is Sam?” Cas choked. His fingers curled in the denim covering Dean’s thigh to steady himself. He pulled, hauling himself upright and nearly dragging Dean to the ground in the process. Dean’s eyes were wide and wet, frightened. 

“Cas, what-?”

“Sam?” Cas raised his feeble voice, calling out to the younger Winchester. “ _SAM?”_ He lurched toward the door of the church, smelling sulphur and blood.

“Cas!” Dean trailed behind him as Cas stumbled, planting his hands against the wooden doors. There was some sort of force holding them closed, some ambiguous gray magic. Cas lashed out, what was left of his grace snapping like a whip to burst the doors open. Dean swore behind him and Cas swayed. His grace was wildly unstable but he found it difficult to care when Dean was afraid and Sam was in danger.

He stalked into the dim church, taking in the scene before him with exhausted horror. Sam hunched over a demon. The hideous, gnarled face of the hellspawn was familiar even though Castiel couldn’t focus on the stolen body.

“Crowley?” Cas was surprised to hear his own voice growl the name.

“Sammy, stop!” Dean screamed, racing forward to clutch at Sam’s wrist.

“Dean?” Sam looked horrible. His eyes were red-rimmed and sunken, his lips split and cracking. He’d lost weight since Cas had seen him last, his collarbones poking out of the neckline of his shirt painfully. “Cas?”

“Sam.” Cas grated, blood drooling from his lips. “You are dying?” Disoriented as he was he could see the fraying edges of Sam’s being, his soul reaching out in every direction as it tried to leave his battered body behind.

“What?” Sam sounded nothing like himself and Castiel couldn’t tell if it was the blood in his ears or not.

“He’s gone too far.” A thin voice said from behind them. Castiel turned to find a slender man standing in the corner of the church, a silver-tipped cane in his bony hand. Castiel could see the eons of blank calm behind his bird-like face, behind the huge, liquid eyes glinting in the dim light.

Crowley whimpered.

“What are you doing here?” Castiel asked, already knowing the answer but rejecting it outright. Neither Winchester would die while he lived.

“Cas? The hell are you talking to?” Dean sounded even more scared. Sam stumbled and Dean shot forward to catch him.

“I admit I’ve been curious as to what would lead these two to me in the end.” Said Death. He tapped his cane against his polished shoe. A tiny smile twisted his lips as he watched the brothers prop each other up. “I so very rarely do field work anymore, but I suppose I hold some affection for this pair of amoebas. Sentimental, I know. But it’s been so very long since a mortal was of any use to me.”

“They set you free.” Cas wheezed, drawing a nod from Eternity. “You cannot.”

“Cas?” Dean’s voice was drowned out by Death’s chuckle.

“I think you’ll find that I can.” He took a few steps forward and Castiel couldn’t help the shudder that ran through him. “And I will. Eventually. But I suppose it doesn’t have to be this moment.”

Cas’s head snapped up. “What do I do?”

Death peered at him. “You’re very close to me yourself.” He said and Cas nodded. “But there is little that can heal Sam Winchester but the power of Heaven.”

Cas flinched. His grace hummed at Death’s call. “Will you take me?” he asked. He was afraid. He had never feared Death before. He’d lived with the possibility as a soldier of Heaven. He’d risked it when he’d fought through the bowels of hell to find the Righteous Man. He’d stood and faced it at Chuck Shurley’s home. He’d driven to find it when he’d followed Dean to Stull. And he’d never been afraid. Until now.

Death just stared, refusing to answer.

And Castiel realized it didn’t matter. If he could save Sam Winchester he would, no matter the cost. He straightened, clenching his fists and shutting his eyes. He focused inward and tried to find the tiny piece of grace that had turned and come back to him. It sparked deep in his belly, wounded and confused. He cradled it in his mind, a tacit apology in his core. It had been drawn back to him by love, his love of Heaven, his love of God, and perhaps God’s love for him in return. But all of that he would sacrifice for the Winchesters, for the brothers who had sacrificed all to save the world. For the brothers who had taught him the truth of love.

He fed it all the love he had for these two men, for the world they had shown him. His grace swirled and grew, flickering madly but absorbing all Castiel could give it.

“Cas? What’s going on?” Dean demanded, gripping Cas’s shoulder again.

Castiel opened his eyes to find his right hand had begun to glow. He lifted it, feeling his broken grace leaping, trying to get to Sam already. Sam still leaned heavily into Dean’s side. His eyes rolled up to stare at Cas, unfocused and hazy.

Castiel smiled at Dean, nodded at Death.

“It will be alright, Dean.” He said. “Sam will be alright.”

“For now.” Death agreed. But he didn’t disappear. Whether he was watching or waiting, Castiel couldn’t tell. Castiel took a deep breath and reached out, touching two fingers to Sam’s sweat-damp forehead. Sam’s head snapped back and Castiel screamed, the last of his grace ripping itself out by the roots and streaming into Sam.

Dean was yelling, Sam was gasping, Castiel was screaming.

And then there was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't let your mind get weary  
> And confused your will be still, don't try  
> Don't let your heart get heavy  
> Child, inside you there's a strength that lies (lies)
> 
> Don't let your soul get lonely  
> Child, it's only time, it will go by  
> Don't look for love in faces, places  
> It's in you that's where you'll find kindness
> 
> Be here now, be here now  
> Be, be here now, be here now
> 
> Don't lose your faith in me  
> And I will try not to lose faith in you  
> Don't put your trust in walls  
> 'Cause walls will only crush you when they fall
> 
> Be, be here now, be here now  
> Be, be here now, be here now


	2. Holding Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is already more challenging than I was ready for. The schedule is definitely affecting chapter quality already and I haven't had time to do ANY editing, but here is the official chapter 1 of the 30DOTPC. Enjoy! Feedback is life!

It had been a whole week and Dean hadn’t heard a word from Cas.

He’d dragged Sam back to the bunker after the whatever the hell Cas had done, the lights of that crazy meteor shower streaking across the windshield the whole way. Whatever Cas had done had been violent, an explosion of power so untamed it had taken both Winchesters off their feet. He’d sprawled across the dusty floor, struggling to breathe like he’d been punched in the gut with Sam whimpering beside him. When the stars had cleared from Dean’s eyes and the screams stopped ringing in his ears Cas was gone.

And Sammy was alive.

Dean had bundled him into the passenger’s seat of the impala, stuffing Crowley back in the trunk almost as an afterthought, and driven back to the bunker at 100mph. Kevin had helped him carry Sam through to his bedroom but flat-out refused to be anywhere near Crowley. Dean had had to drag the scruffy maybe-not-a-demon-anymore down to the dungeon all by himself. Crowley hadn’t made a peep the whole time, hadn’t spoken a word since Dean chained him back in the chair in the middle of the big devil’s trap.

Crowley was the least of his worries though.

Whatever Cas had done had kept Sam alive, but something was way off with the younger Winchester. He was nearly as quiet as the demon in the basement, only answering Dean’s questions in monosyllabic grunts in the few hours a day he was even awake. He slept like the dead, eighteen hours a day a least. In the last week he’d only emerged from his room to stumble back and forth to the bathroom and choke down the coffee Dean kept brewing to give himself something to do. Dean brought him food - easy things like canned soup and oatmeal, like Sam had the flu or something - and sometimes Sam would sit up and eat. Other times Dean would leave it on the little desk and find it stone cold the next morning, untouched. The first few nights he’d heard Sam puking in the bathroom, wheezing and gasping as what little he’d managed to eat came right back up.

It had been a week and Sam showed no sign of getting any better. Dean was trying not to panic about that, or about the fact that Cas had vanished into thin air. It wasn’t the first time the angel had gone MIA, he reminded himself. And there had been no giant wing-smudges on the floor of the church, no body to prove Cas was gone for good.

But Dean couldn’t shake the split-second after his vision had cleared, when he sat up from that filthy floor and thought he saw a dark figure standing in the corner, the flash of an ebony cane horrifyingly familiar. But then he’d blinked and it was gone.

He prayed. He sent Cas detailed instructions on how to use a phone, even how to pick a pocket so he had a phone to use. He told him how to sneak behind the desk of a public library and use their phone line, he even told him to go to the police station and say he’d been robbed and needed to call a friend.

“Getting pretty worried here, Cas.” Dean mumbled under his breath as he stirred yet another pot of chicken-noodle crap. “You gotta get in touch if you can, let me know you’re at least alive, ok? Please?”

“Dean?”

Dean flinched, turning around to find Kevin standing in the doorway of the massive kitchen. He looked tired, as usual, and he was holding the demon tablet. It was almost like the damn thing had become a part of him, grown into the skin of his right hand like parasite. So it was kind of a surprise when the kid stalked over and shove it at Dean, a scowl all over his face.

He’d been avoiding Dean, avoiding everything, buried in the back of the library doing whatever prophets did when they were off the clock. Dean had been too focused on Sam and too worried about Cas to pay the kid much attention. But apparently Kevin had had enough of that shit.

“I am _sick_ of playing Heaven’s translator.” He spat, thrusting the tablet at Dean. “Nothing good is gonna come off of that hunk of stone and I refuse to keep pointing you two down the wrong road over and over!” Dean set down his spoon and took the tablet, still surprised at how heavy the thing was. Kevin crossed his skinny arms and glared at Dean. “Threaten me all you want, kick me out to get creamed by some demons or angel-napped. I don’t care. I’m _not doing this anymore!”_

Dean looked down at the stone, the spidery script etched into it making his skin crawl. “I’m not going to kick you out.” He croaked. “You’re right. Should never have messed with this shit in the first place.”

Kevin blinked at him. “Really?”

“Yeah, man.” Dean chuckled drily. “I’ll lock it in the dungeon, one of the little cells at the back. Got a few curse-boxes I can seal it in, too.”

“Is that a good idea with… with _Crowley_ down there?” Kevin asked. Dean didn’t miss the way he shivered on the demon’s name.

Dean shrugged. “He can’t go anywhere. And he’d have to get into the cell and out again. To be honest I’m not sure what he even is anymore.”

Kevin leaned his hip against the counter and bit his lip. “What happened at the church, Dean?”

Dean had been pretty tight-lipped about the whole thing. He was surprised it had taken the kid this long to ask, really. “I don’t know.” He admitted. “Cas showed up, looked like shit. He busted down the doors and said Sam was dying. Then he started talking to someone who wasn’t there,” at least he really fucking _hoped_ no one was there and it had been a figment of his damn imagination to see Death standing in the corner, “and then slammed Sam with some kind of grace magic. He disappeared and I haven’t heard word one from him since.”

Kevin stared. “Is he… did he…?” he left it unfinished, looking like he might puke if he tried.

“Dunno.” Dean shrugged, stirring the soup again with his free hand before it could burn. “Been trying to get him to answer. No wing-prints or anything but…” he shrugged again.

“Jesus.” Kevin breathed. Dean laughed. “So is Sam still dying or…?”

Dean wasn’t sure if the way Kevin never finished a stupid sentence was easier to deal with or just annoying. “Dunno.” He repeated, his guts clenching around the truth of it. “Cas did say Sam was going to be ok before he blitzed out. But he didn’t really look all that together so who knows?”

“How do we find him?” Kevin asked, drawing a tired smile from Dean. Kevin didn’t seem to realize how often he used the word “we” nowadays. He always insisted he was looking for a way out, but then threw himself right back in as soon as someone was in trouble.

“No idea.” Dean admitted. “And I can’t really leave Sam here to go out on an angel hunt until I know he’s not going to drop dead.”

Kevin nodded and watched Dean stir the soup. “Well this sucks.” He said finally and Dean barked another laugh.

“Yeah. Pretty much.” He agreed.

“Well,” Kevin said, straightening, “Upsides: Sam’s not dead yet, and we’ve got no proof Castiel is either. We’re relatively safe for the moment, and as far as we know we didn’t do any more damage than almost killing Sam.”

Dean switched off the burner and cast Kevin an amused half-smile. “You kind of suck at pep talks, you know that?”

“Never been my thing.” Kevin admitted. “But it’s all true so there’s that.”

“There’s that.” Dean agreed.

* * * * *

Dean fell asleep that night the same way he had for a week, praying to Cas.

“We’re back at the bunker.” He mumbled into the dark. “Sam’s alive but he’s not… what the hell was that, man?” He jammed his head further into the pillow, trying to block out the memory of Cas’s screaming. “If you’re okay you gotta let me know. We’re pretty worried here, man. And if you can just poof by or whatever, find a phone, call us. Find a police station, or a hospital, or a library. Ask to borrow their phone.” He spent a few minutes repeating his phone number out loud to the ceiling. Then he repeated the whole thing again, that they were safe at the bunker, Sam was alive, how to find a phone…

He didn’t remember falling asleep but suddenly he was standing at the stove, spreading butter on bread to start a grilled cheese for Sammy. He could hear his brother in the other room, arguing with Kevin about some nerd movie and whether he main guy was a hero or a villain. Everyone was whole and safe. Golden light streamed in from windows that definitely didn’t exist in the bunker’s kitchen but it warmed his shoulders so he let it slide. The radio was playing, some old Motown song that had Dean’s hips bouncing and his to tapping.

“Hey Sammy!” he called, “Get your ass in here!”

“Dean?”

Dean dropped the bread and spun around, the butter knife morphing instantly into Ruby’s demon knife. The windows and the sunlight and the kitchen disappeared, everything suddenly going a hazy gray. And standing at the very edge of his vision, half-hidden in the gloom, was Cas.

“Cas?” Dean called.

He looked like shit, even worse than he’d looked at the church. Two huge black eyes bled down across his cheeks and met over the bridge of his nose. His lips were splitting all over the place, crusts of blood flaking away as he opened his mouth in a silent call. There was a slash across the side of his jaw, bruises all over his wrists. His coat was torn and filthy, one pant-leg shredded. He looked up, meeting Dean’s gaze as he swayed on the spot.

“CAS!” Dean tried to move, to run towards Cas. But he was stuck, his boots glued to the ground.

Cas reached out, bloodied fingers trembling.

“CAS!”

Dean woke with a jolt, his own voice echoing off the walls of his room. He blinked, the image of Cas with his arm out fading behind his eyes.

With a groan he dropped down onto the edge of the bed and lay his head in his hands. He was sweating, a cold panic racing down his spine. His hands shook. Had that been real? Was it just a nightmare? He’d had plenty of those, and a fair number had been about Cas over the years. Cas with the Leviathans bursting out of his chest, Cas broken and dirty in Purgatory, Cas fallen and drunk on a skeevy motel bedspread with his faith in the trash can in the corner.

Cas high as shit with a sarcastic grin and dead eyes.

But this felt different.

* * * * *

“Dream walking?” Sam rasped, running a shaking hand through his lank hair. He was awake, propped up at one of the reading room tables with a mug of the hippie ginger tea he liked and a piece of toast. He looked better, a little less like a sneeze might turn him inside out. 

“Yeah. He’s done it a few times.” Dean explained, gripping his coffee mug a little tighter. “When he couldn’t get in touch with us any other way. Remember when we found Jimmy?”

Sam nodded.

“So I was thinking maybe he’s trying to phone home, right?”

“Maybe.” Sam didn’t sound convinced. “But we don’t even know if he’s alive, right?”

Dean had filled Sam in on what had happened, leaving out the moment he’d seen Death in the corner - or thought he’d seen. Sam didn’t remember much past the doors blowing in. He’d finally woken up this morning, exhausted but more normal than he’d been in a week. He kept rubbing at his chest, right over his sternum, but he’d managed a whole bowl of oatmeal without puking and a couple glasses of water.

“What about you?” Dean asked. “Feel like you’ll be sticking around?”

Sam’s smile was thin but it was there. “Yeah.” He said. “I think so.”

Dean collapsed back in his chair, grinning. The relief nearly choked him and for the first time in days a knot between his shoulders loosened. “Awesome. Had me frigging worried, man.”

Sam huffed. “Yeah, me too.” He admitted. “So Crowley’s in the basement?”

“The _Dungeon_.” Dean corrected, drawing an eye-roll. Sam refused to call it a dungeon and Dean refused to call it anything else. “Yeah. I don’t know how far you got with him but he seems pretty broken down. I brought him food a couple times but he doesn’t eat. So not human.”

Sam looked down into his mug, long fingers lacing together under the handle. “I really thought I could do it.” He muttered.

“You could have.” Dean told him, no doubt in his mind. “If anyone could have done it it was you.”

Sam snorted and Dean shot him a look.

“You just would have died. It was part of the whole deal, apparently.” Dean scowled as he thought of that stupid tablet - now under triple lock and quadruple key in the deepest corner of the dungeon. “And I… I couldn’t… I couldn’t let you.”

It was true. Whether Sam was willing to die to close the gates or not, Dean couldn’t do it. He couldn’t watch Sam die again. He couldn’t let him open up another hole and jump on in. He’d sold his soul to undo it the first time, he’d died inside when he’d let it happen at Stull. It had taken the miracle of Sam rising from the dead for Dean to do the same. And he could justify it with the idea that Sam was a survivor, a leader and an invaluable resource for mankind. That was the whole speech he had planned to stop Sammy before Cas busted in the doors. How they could take on Hell and every slimy piece of shit that had ever crawled out of it if they just stayed together. But it was a thin excuse. The truth was Dean couldn’t let Sam die again. Not if he could stop it.

“Look, Dean. I…” Sam shook his head. “Nevermind. Doesn’t matter. It’s over now. I failed.”

“You didn’t _fail.”_ Dean barked and Sam flinched. “You _stopped._ It’s different.”

“Sure.” Sam said in that tone he was just telling Dean whatever he wanted to hear.

“Hey guys?” Kevin called, appearing from the entry hall with an actual smile on his face.

“What’s up, Kevin?” Sam asked. Dean didn’t miss the speed with which Sam grabbed the first opportunity to change the subject.

“Did you guys know you had an archery range?” 

* * * * *

“Hey Cas.” Dean whispered into the stillness of his bedroom well after midnight. Despite the exhaustion that was half-drowning him, despite the fiery ache across his shoulders - turns out drawing a longbow was way harder than it looked - he couldn’t sleep. So he prayed.

“Cas we’re at the bunker. We’re all ok. Sammy’s doing better. Whatever you did worked. So if you’re out there you gotta find a way to get to us, okay?” He closed his eyes and repeated the same thing again and again.

_Find a phone. This is the number. Find a phone. Find a phone._

He knew he’d slipped into a dream when he caught the smell of motor oil and dirt in the sun. He was sitting on the hood of a dusty pickup in Bobby’s scrap yard, a cold beer by his elbow and Sam digging in the sand with a stick. Sam was maybe five, his stupid floppy hair a few shades lighter the way in got in the summer and his cheeks peeling from yet another sunburn. Dean _knew_ he’d put sunscreen on the kid, he _always_ put sunscreen on Sam, especially his massive ears that always tried to peel right off his head every time he spent an hour outside. But somehow Sam had managed to scrub, scuff, or sweat it off and gotten burned anyway.

“What’ya making?” Dean asked, not at all bothered that he was nearly forty and Sam was five.

“Not makin’.” Sam huffed, that little lisp he’d had for a few years tugging at Dean’s heart. “Diggin’.”

“Why?”

“Jason said you can get to China if you dig all the way through the Earth.”

Dean laughed. “Oh, so you’re going to bring me back some egg rolls?”

Sam rolled his eyes dramatically. “No Dean.” He grumped in his most annoyed tone. Even at five Sammy had been a little bitch. “Jason’s dumb. You can’t get to China from here. I looked at the globe. I bet him if I dig a tunnel here I’ll come out right in the middle of the ocean.”

“Oh.” Dean nodded. “Makes sense.”

“So I’m digging a tunnel to the ocean.”

“Right. Shouldn’t you get a swimsuit or something? I think Bobby’s got a snorkle somewhere.”

“Really?” Sam’s head snapped up, his eyes bright with excitement.

“Yeah. And maybe a canoe or something. If you’re going to end up in the ocean you’ll probably need a boat.”

Sam jumped up, his stick forgotten stuck in the dirt. “I’ll go ask him!” he chirped and ran full tilt towards the house, skinny legs flickering madly.

Dean smiled as he watched him go, shouting, “I’ll stand guard over the tunnel!”

“Dean?”

The scrapyard wavered and dissipated, heatwaves off a windshield. A grim gloom swamped him, setting him adrift in a formless fog. And out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of blue.

He turned and Cas was walking towards him, his tie flapping in a non-existant breeze. The scrape on his jaw had opened wider, his bruised eyes were darker, turning green around the edges. He was limping, one hand reaching out towards Dean.

“Cas!” Dean yelled, his voice muffled in the fog the second it left his lips. Cas’s mouth opened but nothing came out, just a buzzing in Dean’s skin. “Cas! Are you okay?”

Cas reached.

“CAS!”

He snapped awake sitting upright, one hand reaching out like he could pick Cas out of thin air.

* * * * *

“And were there any clues where he was? Any landmarks or signs or anything?” Sam demanded, leaning heavily on the aluminum crutch they’d dug out of their medical supplies. Sam’s right knee had taken a beating in the blast of Cas’s exit, and it would be a while before it would heal. They were in the garage, Dean’s anxiety demanding that he either fix something or break something.

He shook his head. “It was just some like, foggy nothing.” He said, waving a hand vaguely. He was wiping down one of the old Studebakers that had been sitting here since the bunker was abandoned, shining up the chrome with a shammy and some good old-fashioned elbow grease.

Sam sighed, popping the door open to lower himself carefully to the seat. His head stuck out from under the arched roof awkwardly but it looked more comfortable than trying to balance with the crutch. “Well, if you’re sure it wasn’t just a dream,”

“It wasn’t.” Dean interrupted. He was damn sure.

Sam nodded. “Then at least we know he’s alive.”

Something in Dean’s chest fluttered wildly. Hope, probably. “Right? He’s got to be!”

“So do you think he’s stuck somewhere?” Sam asked, fiddling with the window mechanism. “Like Purgatory again or…?”

Dean shrugged. “I’ve got no idea.” He growled. “But wherever he is he’s not doing great. He looks like crap.”

“How crap?”

“Crappier than you.” Dean admitted, flipping the shammy over to work on the bulbous headlight.

Sam’s laugh crackled. “So really, really crap then?”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded.

“Well, maybe you can try again.”

Dean frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Cas shows up after you fall asleep praying to him, right?” Sam reasoned.

“Yeah.”

“And you keep telling him to call, right?”

Dean nodded.

“Then maybe you should ask him to tell you where he is.” Sam said. “Before you fall asleep, ask him to _show_ you exactly where he is.”

Dean blinked. “You think that would work?”

“It’s worth a try, isn’t it?” Sam shrugged.

“I guess.” Dean didn’t see how it could hurt, anyway.

Sam just stared at him. “So…?”

“What, now?” Dean balked.

“You’ve got something better to do?” Sam asked with a pointed glance at the headlight.

Dean looked down at the shammy in his hand. “Uh. No, I guess not.”

“Good. Go get Kevin to make you one of his sleepy-time tea things and see if you can get Cas to answer his prayer-phone.”

Ten minutes later Dean was laying on one of the big couches in what they’d decided to call the smoking room, his feet propped up on one arm and his head on the other. The disgusting tea Kevin swore was some sort of anti-anxiety panacea was swirling in his stomach as he squinched his eyes shut and tried to feel sleepy.

“This isn’t going to work.” He growled, all too aware of Sam and Kevin sitting on the couch across from him.

“Not with that attitude.” Sam agreed pleasantly. Little shit.

“How am I supposed to just fall asleep at the drop of a hat?” Dean demanded.

“You used to do it all the time.” Sam reminded him, no doubt remembering the countless times Dean had sacked out in the impala on long drive, in the most disgusting motel rooms in America without a moment’s hesitation.

“Yeah well I wasn’t trying to dream-skype anybody then.” He grumbled.

“Just relax.” Kevin murmured.

“Nothing is less relaxing than being told to relax.” Dean pointed out.

“Close your eyes and think of Castiel.” Kevin continued, unperturbed. “Reach out to him with your mind.”

“Okay, either go brew more of that disgusting tea or stay and get punched in the throat.” Dean snapped. He could feel the apologetic look Sam threw at Kevin even with his eyes closed. “Sorry.” He blurted. “But this is harder than it sounds, ok?”

“Just pray, Dean.” Sam sighed, his crutch creaking as he stood. “Kevin and I will be playing cards over at the table. Just pray and see if you can fall asleep.”

“Yes, Mom.” Dean snarked.

He listened to them shuffle away, keeping his eyes shut like that was going to help at all. How was he supposed to do this? He felt ridiculous. This was ridiculous.

 _This sucks, Cas._ He started, praying silently. _If you’re out there you gotta tell me how to find you cause this feels goddamn stupid. I’m gonna be pissed if you don’t make this pay off, okay?_ That made him smile. He could picture Cas’s confused frown, the annoyed pinch he got between his eyebrows when Dean was being a shit.

_You gotta show me how to find you, okay? Just show me where you are. We’ll come get you. We’ll figure it out. But you gotta help me find you, okay?_

He repeated it over and over, clasping his hands over his stomach and gripping tight.

_Help me find you, Cas._

* * * * *

Dean was standing in the middle of the entryway, the giant map table’s lights blinking like a Christmas tree. The door on the balcony was open, a howling wind ripping down the staircase and fluttering all the pages of the books open on the reading room tables.

“Dean?”

Cas stood under the staircase, his face pale and his tie missing. His shoes were gone, too.

“Cas!” Dean breathed. “Cas, where are you?”

“Dean?” Cas repeated. He was fuzzy, swaying where he stood. Christ he looked half-dead.

“Cas, you gotta show me where you are!” Dean insisted, trying to force his legs to work. Just like the first time he’d seen Cas since the church his feet seemed glued to the floor. “Cas, where are you?”

Cas just looked at him, his head tilted in that way it did when he was thinking things like “you puny humans make no sense”. Dean could have hugged him if he could get his damn feet to move. 

“Cas, buddy, show me where you are! Just tell me where you are!”

Cas heaved a sigh and it shuddered out of him like a death rattle. He moved, dragging his legs forward like they were made of lead. He reached out, fingers wrapping around Dean’s outstretched hand and gripping like a vice.

“Cas?”

Cas stared, that too-intense, completely inappropriate stare that had always made Dean’s hair stand on end, and pushed Dean’s hand forward. It slammed down on the map table, dragging across the flashing lights as Cas pushed his hand north.

“You’re in Canada?” Dean asked, watching his own palm skate across the Great Lakes. Cas just kept pushing.

Finally, their hands came to rest over a little blue squiggle. Cas squeezed his fingers, pressed his palm into the table.

“Is that it?” Dean asked. “That’s where you are?”

Cas squeezed his fingers again.

Dean snapped awake and for a second he could still feel Cas’s hand over his. He stumbled to his feet and rushed to the map table. Sam appeared beside him, eyebrows high and hopeful. “Anything?” he asked.

Dean stared down at the blue squiggle. “I know where he is.”


	3. Cuddling Somewhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’m already late but hopefully this chapter makes up for it. It’s a big one. I’ll try to catch up as quickly as I can! I really want to do this in thirty days if I can!

It was a thirteen hour drive almost straight north from Lebanon to Cas’s marker on the map but I-29 was clear and Dean made it in ten. He tried not to flinch when the road took them through Sioux Falls, but he caught Sam staring through the window one of the old diners Bobby used to take them to as kids.

Sam looked even worse in the light of day. He slumped in the passenger’s seat with his shoulders hunched and his arms crossed like he was trying to shield his gut. His eyes were sunken and bloodshot, his skin flakey and dry but sweating at the same time. His clothes were a couple sizes too big, all that muscle he’d lost during the trials making him look like some giant bird. Dean had thought he’d go get Cas alone. He figured he’d leave Kevin safe in the bunker and Sam to heal up. But to his surprise when he’d come out of his room with his duffle full of weapons and a few changes of clothes Sam and Kevin had both been standing by the staircase, bags in hand.

“You think I’m going to stay here alone with _Crowley?”_ Kevin had asked, genuinely offended as he hitched his backpack up his shoulder.

“Cas saved my life again.” Sam had shrugged. “It’s my turn.”

Dean hadn’t really been able to argue with either point so they’d all packed into the impala and hit the road for Canada.

That “little blue squiggle” Cas had pointed to ended up being the southern tip of Lake Winnipeg, which Kevin helpfully pointed out was over two-hundred-fifty miles from top to bottom. And the span of Dean’s hand where Cas had placed it on the map had covered probably another fifty miles either side, nearly to Lake Manitoba to the west and the border of Ontario in the east. That meant they had at least thirty-eight hundred square miles to cover, and no other clues where Cas might be in that spread. Awesome.

But it was something. And as Sam had pointed out they had gone further on less and come out on top.

They rolled into Winnipeg sometime after midnight, looking for a cheap motel on the northern edge. A little twelve-room drive-up sat up the road from a giant flashy casino and had a room open. Dean was surprised to find it clean and pleasant, nothing like the rat-holes they’d spent so much of their lives in.

“Getting spoiled in our old age.” Sam sighed when Dean mentioned it.

“I guess.” Dean chuckled. “How’s the leg?”

Sam winced. “Stiff.” He admitted as he lowered himself carefully onto one of the beds. “But I think this brace thing is doing it’s job.” They’d left the crutch behind and picked up a Forrest Gump-looking contraption at a Walgreens with a million straps that was supposed to stabilize his knee. He ripped at the different velcro bits and slid it off, grimacing as he straightened his leg without it.

Kevin plopped into the chair at the little table by the window with a groan. “How is sitting in one place for ten hours so exhausting?” he grumped.

Dean laughed and dumped his bag on the second bed. “That’s why we told you to get out at the gas-ups.”

“Lesson learned.” Kevin nodded. “So what now?”

“We’ve got to narrow down the search area.” Sam supplied.

“How do we do that?”

“Research.” Said Sam.

“And footwork.” Dean added.

Kevin glanced out the window at the darkened parking lot. “Now?”

“You want to leave Cas half-dead in a foreign country for any longer than we’ve got to?” Dean challenged, maybe a little too harshly.

Kevin flushed like a tomato and stuttered, “N-no.”

Dean felt a little punch of guilt in his gut. He clapped the kid on the shoulder. “‘Course you don’t.” He said and Kevin relaxed. It was hard to remember sometimes how new to all this shit Kevin really was.

“We’ll take turns.” Sam offered, limping over to the table with is laptop. “I’ve been combing news sites and paranormal forums for anything weird in the area. Now we can go through them and see if any of them aren’t bogus. Dean will head out and see if anyone’s seen Cas.”

“Bars and homeless people.” Dean said, digging out his pistol and shoving it in the shoulder holster under his jacket. The demon knife went town the back of his jeans and he laid out one of the salt-loaded sawed-offs on the table by Sam’s right hand.

“Those are the best places to ask for info on people who are out of the ordinary.” Sam explained.

“No one tells more whack-job stories than a drunk and no one keeps track of homeless people closer than other homeless people.” Dean agreed.

“And both will spill their guts for a twenty.” Sam flipped open his laptop and started rapid-fire typing. “Here, come look at this.”

Dean left the pair of them arguing over the validity of some crack-pot site and took the impala to a likely-looking dive bar.

“We’re coming for you, Cas.” He mumbled as he climbed out of the car and took in the glow of the neon sign.

He lost four of his twenties to scruffy old men with fish-stories before he hit a promising lead. A skinny old woman called Lettie with enough hair spray in her gnarled mane to keep it standing ’til judgement day had a story about a poor lost man who’d been beaten up in an alley the night before. At least that’s how he’d explained the cuts and bruises.

This “sweet young thing” had had black hair and a trench coat, blue eyes and a gruff voice.

“Sounds like my friend.” Dean told her. “Did he say his name?”

“No,” croaked Lettie, “and I didn’t ask. Boy like that’s bound to have secrets, eh?”

“You don’t know the half of it.” He smiled.

“You know, the weirdest thing happened.” Lettie said, tapping her bony fingers on his arm. “He was stumbling around, thought he was drunk. Put out my hand to steady him - lord knows I’ve taken a nose-dive now and then under the influence and I didn’t want him messing up that pretty face. But he had a big cut, right through the shoulder of his coat and shirt and all. I got something on my hand, thought it was blood at first.”

“Wasn’t it?” asked Dean.

“Nah.” Lettie took a drink. “Don’t know what it was. Moved like smoke. I only saw it for a second and then there was this flash.”

“Flash?” Dean blinked. “Like, bright white? Sort of silvery around the edges?”

Lettie nodded, bemused. “Just like that.” She said. “And the _really_ weird thing,” she held out her hand, “I’ve had the carpal tunnel in that wrist for years now. Hurts like a bitch. But all day it’s felt brand-spanking new.” She rolled her wrist around a few times to prove her point.

Dean pinched his lips. That sounded like angel grace to him. And if Cas was leaking grace then he was in even worse shape than Dean thought. “Did you see which way he was headed?”

“Well I offered him a nice warm bed for the night.” Lettie said, wiggling her penciled-on eyebrows suggestively. Dean barked a laugh as he tried to imagine Cas’s reaction to that. Would he have even understood the implication? “But he said he wouldn’t put me in danger like that, the sweetheart. Don’t think he knows just how wild I been in my day.” She huffed and adjusted her bra strap, draining her beer.

Dean grinned. “Oh, I bet I got a good idea.” He said and passed her his beer. She smiled, a smear of lipstick on her teeth.

“You bet, honey.” She took a swig. “Well I couldn’t let an ass like that just walk away without doing _something_ , so I bought him a burger and a bus ticket and he took off north with it. Last I saw him he was headed up the road towards Selkirk.”

“Thanks, Lettie.” Dean said, sliding a twenty across the table at her. 

“Well if you’ve got a few hours to spare I could show you a good time.” Lettie grinned and stuffed the twenty in her bra.

Dean laughed. “Lettie if I did, I would be showing _you_ a thing or two.” He’d always had a sweet spot for the bar babes who were getting long in the tooth - probably because he always figured if he ended up with anyone it would be with one of them. And anyone who helped Cas out in a pinch was definitely on his nice list.

“Oh sweet-cheeks, I’d make your head spin.” Lettie told him, tonguing the rim of her bottle.

Dean laughed and leaned across the table, placing a wet kiss on her wrinkled cheek. “I fucking bet.” He said, pinching her chin in his fingers.

He left the bar to hoots of “Cradle robbing again, Lettie?” and her raucous reply, pulling his phone out and dialling Sam’s number.

Sam picked up on the first ring. “Got anything?”

“A lead.” Dean confirmed, telling him about Lettie and the “poor sweet thing”.

Sam chuckled. “I got something, too.” He said. He told Dean about a rash of paranormal occurrences working west across that part of Canada, starting about a week before and getting more and more frequent in the last few days. A half dozen just that morning in different places.

“You think it’s related?” Dean asked, climbing into the car.

“The weird part is that most of them aren’t attacks, just sightings of creatures, ghosts and stuff all heading west. There’s a couple that are even what sounds like long-term possessions where the demon just took off, heading west as fast as they could.”

“That train leading toward Selkirk, by any chance?” Dean asked as he pulled out onto the main road.

“Yeah. That where your date said Cas is heading?”

“That’s the ticket she bought him.”

“Hmm.” Sam said. “Well I’ve got an idea. Get back here.”

“Got it.” Dean agreed, hanging up.

When he got back the room smelled like fries and there were wrappers crumpled on the table. “Who got Tim Horton’s?” he asked.

“Delivery app.” Kevin said and waved his phone. “There’s a burger and onion rings in there for you.” He gestured towards a white bag beside the TV.

“Awesome.” He dug out a few onion rings and shoved them in his mouth. “What’s the plan?”

“Well,” Sam said, leaning back and stretching until his shoulders popped. “With this much crap going on it should be pretty simple to just dig out an EMF reader and follow the pings, right?”

“Old school.” Said Dean. “I like it.”

“And we think Castiel will be wherever the signal is strongest?” Kevin frowned, skeptical.

“I think if he’s leaking grace that’s probably what’s drawing all these things to him. That’s straight up power and if it’s not smiting randomly - Dean, you said it healed that woman?”

“Cured her carpal tunnel.” Dean nodded.

“Well then who wouldn’t want a piece of that?” Sam asked. He had a point. If Cas was leaking heavenly power every witch, demon, and two-bit spirit in a thousand miles would be in line to rob that lemonade stand.

“Shit.” He said eloquently.

“Right.” Sam said.

“Well we’ve got to find him now, right?” Kevin squeaked.

Sam nodded and went into his bag, digging out an old road atlas and flicking to the Canadian section. “Here.” He laid it out on the table. “We’ve got to grab a few hours sleep before we do anything. Everybody look at this.”

He pointed to the web of roads leading from Winnipeg off in all directions. “And we’re all going to pray to Cas, ask him to tell us where he is. If he can only work with what we’ve got then we’ve got to give him something specific.”

“Good idea.” Kevin said. Dean stared, trying to memorise every fire road and logging track marked out on the faded map.

After about ten minutes where they all just stared silently at the map, Sam limped toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna shower.” He said. “You two pray.”

“Got it.” Kevin kicked off his boots and started looking around for a place to crash.

“Take the bed.” Dean told him, moving his bag to the table. “I’ll take the floor tonight.”

Kevin looked surprised. “Really?” he asked.

“Yeah. Better for my back. These beds are too squishy.” It was half true. His back was complaining about ten hours in Baby’s front seat but he also needed Kevin sharp. The kid was the most vulnerable among them, no training or experience in a fight and probably likely to panic when faced with anything scarier than a cocker spaniel. Mentioning it would probably send Kevin’s anxiety into a spiral and make things worse. So Dean pulled a pillow from each bed and the extra blanket off the top shelf of the little closet and made himself a spot on the floor. He stripped to his boxers and t-shirt and laid down, jamming one pillow under his head and hugging the other to his chest.

 _Hey Cas._ He prayed, closing his eyes. He could hear Kevin rustling around near the bed and Sam in the shower. _We’re in Winnipeg. Could use another pointer here. We’re looking for you but we’ve got a lot of ground to cover and not a whole lot to go on._ He tried not to think of Cas wounded and running, scared and alone.

_Got a map in my head now. All you gotta do is point us in the right direction and we’ll come running, okay? You gotta point us right._

He kept repeating it as he heard Sam come out of the bathroom, repeated it as he heard him settle in his bed. Dean repeated it long after the other two had dropped off to sleep, their mouths moving in the stillness as they prayed to Cas too.

_You gotta point us right, Cas._

* * * * *

Dean knew it was a dream from the start.

He was dropped straight into that bizarre fog and left blinking in the dim light. He looked around, trying to figure out where he was exactly. His boots were wet, soaked through. He smelled water nearby, a river or a lake, something clean. There were trees around, some bigger around than Dean’s arms could reach. He was moving, jogging downhill, slipping on a thick carpet of pine needles towards something bright flashing below him. He grabbed a sapling as he skidded on his butt down the slope, tumbling out of the tree line onto tarmac.

A road.

He stood, brushing water droplets from his jeans and looking up and down the road. Not a car in sight, no signs. Not even a mile marker. There was a guardrail across from the hill he’d tumbled down, more trees on the other side.

A flash in the corner of his eye drew his attention, something moving. He moved towards it slowly, unable at first to make sense of what he was seeing. It was like a flame the way it moved but flashing silver, just hanging in midair. It sort of looked like a humming bird, still and a blur of movement at the same time. As he drew closer he could smell something, like static in the air. Lightning.

The not-a-humming-bird flickered closer, slipping over Dean’s ear and over toward the guardrail with a bell-like hum.

Dean’s eyes widened. “Grace.” He breathed.

As if his summoned by his words the little flickering whatever shot away and a second later something growled in the trees behind him. Dean spun to find a pair of yellow, slitted eyes staring at him.

Black dog.

It had been years since he’d seen one, and definitely never one this big. It looked like a wolf but about twice the size and with a shorter, blockier muzzle. Instead of a ruff of thick fur around its neck it had a ring of porcupine-like quills as long as Dean’s forearm, and more on its tail. It leapt, soaring over his head and landing ten feet behind him on the road. The scrap of grace took off up the road and the black dog followed it, snarling and snapping.

Dean took off after them. Running was weird, faster than he usually could as his feet pounded the pavement. Ahead the dog screamed and Dean ran faster. He came around a corner and skidded to a stop, stunned. Cas stood in the road, his coat missing and his tattered white shirt brittle with dried blood. He had cuts all over his face, the ankle that had been exposed when he ripped a pant leg was shredded, the torn skin turning black. In one shaking hand he gripped his sword.

And at his feet, stilled and pouring black blood from a gash in its throat, was the black dog.

“Cas!” Dean yelled, running again. “Cas! Are you okay?”

It was a dumb question. Cas was about the farthest thing from ‘okay’ Dean had ever seen. He skidded to a stop just short of Cas, too scared that even a touch would knock him flat.

“Cas.” He breathed.

When Cas looked up his eyes were hazy and unfocused. “Dean?” he sounded worse than he looked, weak and wheezy.

“Cas, tell me where you are. Tell me exactly where you are!” Dean hurried, unsure how much time he would get. These dreams were always so short, just a minute or two before he woke up.

“Dean.” Cas shook his head. Blood from a cut on his brow pattered all over his shirt.

“Cas, NOW!” Dean grabbed Cas’s slumping shoulders and shook him. “Cas, you _gotta_ tell me where you are.”

Cas blinked and sagged in Dean’s hands. A cloud of tiny little shreds of grace floated around him, every few seconds touching themselves to one of his injuries. But he didn’t heal. Why wasn’t he healing?

“Look!” Dean said, digging in his back pocket for a map he suddenly realized was there. God bless dream logic. He unfolded it, the map he’d memorized drawn carefully on faded old parchment with a leaky black pen.

“Look, Cas. Right here. Just point. Where are you?”

Cas stared with watering eyes at the map. Behind them something howled. Another black dog? A hell hound? Fuck. Dean needed to get her for _real._

“Cas, come on, man.” Dean pleaded. “Please. I _promise_ we’ll come get you!We’re almost there already. Just tell me where you are.”

Cas groaned and lifted his sword. He stabbed it at the map and the tip singed a tiny hole. Dean looked at it, trying to memorize every detail around that point. “We’re coming for you, Cas.” He said, feeling a tuck at the back of his neck. “We’re coming. Just hang on!” He glanced up to see a tiny little quirk on Cas’s lips.

He was smiling.

Dean jerked upright with a yell, already halfway to the door by the time he realized he was awake.

“Sammy! Get up!”

* * * * *

The burn on Dean’s dream map was a deserted spot off Provincial Trunk Highway 4, north of Selkirk but only an hour or so from their motel. Dean made it in thirty-two minutes. Sam strapped on his knee brace in the car while Kevin got dressed in the back. There were all locked and loaded, ready for whatever they would find ahead. Kevin had three knives and the sawed-off, plus a pistol that he was only supposed to use in emergencies. The kid was a horrible shot. Sam had his usual array of various demon-and-miscellanious-creeper killers and Dean’s pistols were digging into his armpits. The demon-knife was strapped to his thigh - he was more mobile than Sammy at the moment so they’d decided he would be in charge of hauling Cas to the car while Sam and Kevin covered them. It was as good a plan as they could manage, given that they had no idea what they would find except Cas in really bad shape.

Or dead.

Dean shook his head. Cas was alive thirty-two minutes ago, goddamnit. He would be alive when they found him.

They drove up along the river past farm stands and a little airfield, turning onto the side-road Cas had marked. When they reached the familiar patch where dream-Dean had tumbled out of the trees Dean broke the nervous silence he’d kept since Winnipeg.

“This is it.” He said. “Keep your eyes peeled.”

The headlights flashed off something huge and Dean slammed on the breaks. Lying dead in the middle of the road was the black dog, its pool of sticky, stinking blood reaching beginning to dry. Dean shoved the car into park and opened his door, glancing across the roof at Sam as he straightened.

“He’s gotta be close.” Sam looked around. “Probably just continued on the road, right? Easiest way to walk if he’s as injured as you saw.”

Dean nodded. “Right.”

They both slipped back in, slamming their doors in unison. Dean carefully guided baby around the dead dog. He tried not to think of the blood splatters he was getting in the wheel wells and failed. Whatever. Baby was a goddamn warrior. She wouldn’t mind. Safely past the corpse of the black dog, Dean kept driving slowly so they would see Cas if he had collapsed off in the ditch. He prayed silently as they passed a sign for Highway 4.

_Cas, we’re here. If you can hear me get on the road. We’re right here, okay? Get on the road and we’ll find you._

When they reached the highway they had a choice. Left or right.

“He’s been going north, right?” Sam reasoned. “I say we go north.”

“Makes sense.” Kevin chirped.

Dean nodded silently and took the turn, praying they were right. They drove slow, keeping their eyes and ears peeled. After a minute the highway curved, heading due east across a wide river. Dean was about to ask whether they should try to find a road heading north when he caught a flash of something ahead.

There, on the bridge, in the pitch black of too-early-in-the-morning, was Cas.

“Cas!” Said Sam, leaning forward to grip the dash. Kevin shoved his head over the seat between Dean and Sam and pointed.

“What the hell is that?” he screeched.

Cas crouched against the bridge’s guardrail, his blood-spattered sword gleaming in Dean’s headlights. Squaring off with him were two long-limbed, pale-skinned monsters with hideous white eyes as big as dinner plates.

“Wendigos?” Sam asked, incredulous.

“Didn’t think they’d be into angel grace.” Dean muttered and put his foot down. The impala leapt forward with a roar, heading straight for the two beasts trying to corner Cas.

For a split second he saw Cas look up, one eye swollen completely shut but the other one bright with hope.

The wendigos hissed and leapt aside, too fast to dent baby’s hood with their disgusting bodies. Dean threw it into neutral and leapt out. He fired his pistol at the nearest wendigo as it rushed him. A literal bullseye took out it’s left eye and it screamed in agony. It fell aside to claw at its face. The second one shrieked, zipping forward in a blur to slam Dean into the side of the bridge.

Sam fired the sawed-off, a spray of salt slicing into the thing’s leathery back and drawing a scream. Then Kevin was there with the home-made flamethrower from the trunk held in front of him. The kid had clearly been studying up, thought Dean as he tried to shake the ringing from his ears. In a burst of flame the wendigo was gone.

The blinded one had recovered enough to slash out, knocking Sam off his feet and the flame-thrower from Kevin’s grip. It rolled uselessly across the road and tumbled off the far side.

Well, fuck.

Dean fired again but wasn’t as lucky. The bullets ricochetted and the creature ignored them. It slashed its long-fingered hand across Kevin’s belly and the kid screamed. He crumpled to the road and went still.

“Kevin!” Sam threw himself forward, shielding Kevin as the Wendigo stepped toward him, but then it paused. It looked over its shoulder, at Cas, who Dean realized was standing funny, one leg forward and his arm outstretched. Almost like…

The wendigo turned fully and Dean could see the glinting hilt of Cas’s angel blade sticking out from between its shoulders. It shuddered, once, the dropped stone dead.

“Cas.” Dean breathed as he struggled to his feet.

“Dean.” Cas’s voice rattled like a pebble in a tin can.

“We got you, Cas.”

Cas stared at him with his one good eye for a second, then promptly collapsed.

“Woah!” Dean caught him before he hit the ground, but only just. “Sammy?”

“Kevin’s alive.” Sam called. “But not good. We need a hospital, Dean!”

“Right.” Dean leaned over to rip the angel blade from the dead wendigo. “Get him in the car and we’ll-“

A howl ripped up the road behind them and Dean spun to find three rawheads stumbling up the road towards them.

_Fuck._

“Get him in the car, Sammy!” Dean called. “I got Cas!”

Sam didn’t waste any time. With a roar Dean suspected meant he was tearing his tweaked knee to shreds, Sam grabbed Kevin in a fireman’s lift and shoved him in the back of the impala. He slammed the door and just as he opened his mouth to shout something to Dean they heard another noise.

“What _now?”_ Dean couldn’t help but groan as a tiny, bright green car came screeching up the road. It didn’t slow at all as the headlights flashed across the rawheads. In fact, it sped up. It slammed full-force into one of them, taking it off its feet as it flew over the roof of the little hatchback. The windshield and hood were completely smashed and the car limped to a halt a few hundred feet away.

“The fuck?” Dean breathed. A girl stumbled out of the wrecked car, a frizz of blond curls glowing in her headlights. She shook herself and looked back at the rawhead she’d maimed, which was already getting slowly to its feet.

“Oh, _crap!”_ The girl squeaked. Then she did the only sensible thing she could. She turned and hauled ass. She came sprinting up the road toward them, panic clear on her face even in the dark.

Dean pointed held out the angel blade as she came up, shielding himself and Cas as much as he could with Cas hanging limp against him.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean demanded. He spared a glance for Sam, who was sitting with one foot in the car and one on the road, his sawed-off balanced in the open window and pointed at Curly’s head.

“Get in your car, go!” the girl shouted. “There’s more coming.”

“More what?” Dean asked. “Rawheads?”

“ _Everything_.” She said.

One of the rawheads roared, charging clumsily. Curly stuck her hand out and shouted something strange. An arc of blue-white electricity shot from her palm and blasted the beast right in the face. It collapsed in a smoking heap, stone-dead.

“The fuck are you?” Dean asked, watching as she did it again. The second and third rawheads dropped beside the first, but because the universe couldn’t just lay the fuck off as soon as they were down something else rushed up the road. A wraith, her face hideously torn and her hair matted, came squealing through the darkness. She clambered over the dead rawheads and rushed them.

Sam swivelled in his seat, pulling a knife from his boot and launching it in one smooth underhand motion. It cause the wraith in the cheek and she screamed. She clawed madly at the silver handle but couldn’t pull it free.

“Jesus Christ, Cas. Everyone want’s a piece of you!” Dean told the unconscious angel. “Guess Lettie wasn’t the only one after your sweet ass, hu?”

“There!” the curly-headed girl said, pointing to the other end of the bridge. Dean looked, but there was nothing there.

“What?” he asked, just as yet another howl - what was it with monsters and howling? - Split the air. Dean felt all his bones freeze solid.

Hellhound.

_Fuck._

“Go, Sammy. Get Kevin out of here!” Dean yelled.

“Dean-“

“GO! I’ve got Cas! Just go!”

It was a total lie but Sam did as he was told, slamming the car into reverse and peeling backward off the bridge.

Curly planted her feet wide apart, raising her hands in front of her like she was doing tai chi or some shit. Her palms facing straight out, she started to chant.

“The fuck are you doing?” Dean demanded. “Can you _see_ them?”

“Little busy.” She grunted, breaking her chant long enough to throw him an annoyed glare before pointedly closing her eyes. Dean nearly laughed.

Something snarled in front of him and he slashed out with the angel blade. He got a shrieking whine for his effort and a splatter of black blood.But it was a lucky shot and he knew it. Hellhounds in the dark with an unconscious angel on his hip was a losing battle, no way around it. Still, Dean Winchester went down fucking fighting.

So he slashed again, lower, going for the feet of anything coming towards him. He didn’t score another hit but he thought it might be keeping them off him and Cas for at least another minute or two. Something scratched his arm, ripping at his canvas coat but not quite getting through. Right as Dean felt the blade sink into something solid, Curly finished her chant. She clapped her hands together dramatically and opened her eyes.

Nothing happened.

For a second Dean wondered if her spell - it sounded like a spell, anyway - was a dud until he felt the bridge shudder.

The hellhounds went silent.

The next roar wasn’t a monster, but the river itself.

Dean watched in horror as the whole damn river raised from its bed, arching up over the bridge like a great looming beast. Dean clamped his hand through Cas’s belt and held him as close as he could. The river hung suspended for about three seconds before it came crashing down, sweeping Dean, Cas, and the hellhounds all away.

* * * * *

Dean wasn’t sure if it was minutes or hours, but the next chunk of time he spent desperately trying to keep his and Cas’s heads above water. They careened down the frigid river, locked together by Dean’s grip and Cas’s belt. Just when Dean was beginning to think that this was what finally killed him the water slowed, returning to the gentle flow they’d followed up from Winnipeg. For a minute Dean just floated, trying to make sense of what the fuck had just happened. Then his brain came back online and he kicked out for shore, dragging Cas carefully along with him.

Cas’s head lolled on Dean’s shoulder and he had no idea if the guy was even alive or not. As hard as it had been to keep himself from drowning he doubted Cas hadn’t gotten a few lungfuls of the Red River.

He managed to get to the bank and drag Cas out of the water, but he didn’t have the strength left in his legs to stand. He rolled Cas on his side, pounded his back, and tried not to panic at the huge amount of water that gushed out of his mouth. He waited, listening for any sound of Cas breathing. After a couple seconds Cas took a shuddering breath and Dean could too.

He flopped out, chest heaving, and stared up at the dawn sky. There were creeping edges of inky blue around the gold and pink that stretched overhead, but it was morning. They’d driven all night and fought off more monsters than Dean had ever seen in one place and saved Cas, all of it before dawn.

“We’re better than I thought.” He muttered with an exhausted laugh. “Told you, Cas!”

He looked over to see Cas’s lips were blue. He was breathing, shaking like a goddamn seizure patient though. Hypothermia, Dean thought fuzzily. And actually, as a bone-rattling shiver rolled through him he realized he probably wasn’t that far off from it himself. He checked his pocket but his phone hadn’t made it down their little grand rapids trip, apparently. He tried again to stand and collapsed back into the dirt.

Well, shit.

“Only one thing for it, Cas. Gotta huddle up and hope Sammy gets here before we freeze to death.” Dean gathered Cas’s shaking body in his arms, pressing close and spreading his soaked jacket over them both. It wasn’t windy so that should keep at least a little of the heat in. At least he hoped so. He squirmed closer, knees tucking up behind Cas’s.

They were spooning. At any other time Dean would have felt weird as hell about it. Not only was Cas a _dude_ , but physical touch really wasn’t the guy’s strong suit. He’d just about mastered a handshake, but even hugging still seemed like a foreign language with him. Nevermind a high five. But it was infinitesimally warmer pressed all up against Cas, and right now Dean could only be grateful.

“Found you, didn’t I?” he chuckled into Cas’s hair. “Now all you gotta do is stay alive ’til Sammy gets here. You hear me, Cas? Just stay alive.”


	4. Making New Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m afraid real life reared its hideous head and I got distracted for a few days. But crisis averted and I’m back! That’s sort of the reason I’m doing this whole exercise, to learn to push through when everything else doesn’t want to leave me any brain power left to write with, so I hope no one minds pushing through with me. Going to try to go from here on out with daily posts as best I can.   
> I hope you’re all liking this so far!

If Dean hadn’t been exhausted, half-drowned, and nearly frozen to death he would have been scared shitless at the way he slipped in and out of consciousness over the next few hours. He had whacked his head - and the rest of his body - off logs and rocks and god knows what else on their wild ride down the river. Coupled with the exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours it was enough to make him not really care that he probably had a concussion or three. Each time he surfaced he had just enough energy to make sure Cas was still breathing before he dropped again. A few times he realized he was awake and staring at the sky only when his eyes stung enough to make him blink.

When he finally woke for real he felt like he’d been beaten with a baseball bat. Or, he supposed, like he fell off a bridge. He checked Cas, lifting the the arm he had slung over the angel’s ribs to watch them rise and fall. They’d both stopped shaking. That had to be a good sign, right? Dean put his hand on Cas’s forehead like he used to do when Sammy was a kid, disturbed to find that Cas was still an icicle.

“Shit, Cas.” He grunted. “We gotta get you warmed up.”

He groaned, stretching out his legs and immediately regretting it. Every muscle in his back screamed in protest and for a second he thought he might have even broken his back. He lifted his head, turned it side to side, clenching his fingers and toes. No spinal damage as far as he could tell. Must have just pulled every damn muscle in his back. Awesome.

Something slipped across his vision, something thin and silvery. Grace. It hovered near him almost like it was watching him. He watched it zip toward’s Cas, brushing itself against a scrape on the back of his neck. Nothing happened. It brushed itself against a jagged tear in his ear. Nothing happened. It looked almost like a puppy licking at its wounded master, trying desperately to get a response. It was kind of heart-breaking, really.

Dean grunted as his back spasmed. The piece of grace flared, flashing up and over Dean’s shoulder and disappearing behind him. He felt something warm and wonderful spreading between his shoulder blades, leaking down his spine and leaving a flushed peace in its wake. Dean twisted experimentally and found his back was healed.

“Damn.” He grated, sitting up.

He sat there for a few minutes wondering what the hell he was supposed to do. He couldn’t carry Cas in his current condition. He wasn’t even sure how long his legs would support his own weight when he managed to drag himself to his feet. But he couldn’t just leave him here unprotected either. If every monster from here to Montreal wanted a piece of the angel it was only a matter of time before they found him, unconscious and frozen solid on the bank.

Dean’s phone was gone, and he had no way to contact Sam or Kevin.

Kevin. Was he even okay? Maybe Sam had managed to get him to a hospital. Dean hoped so.

“Probably took him back to Winnipeg.” He muttered to Cas. “So we just gotta hold on til Sam finds us, right? He’ll… he’ll follow the river. That wave had to wash away all those bastards coming after you so he just took Kevin to a hospital and-“

He wasn’t doing a very good job of convincing himself of any of it when he heard a familiar rumbling purr. He leapt to his feet - apparently that scrap of grace had undone the damage from the river almost completely - and found they were only a few hundred feet from a road. And pulling up on the shoulder of that road was the impala, its sleek black fender more welcome a sight than anything Dean could remember. The blond girl from the bridge jumped out of the passenger’s seat, pointing toward the riverbank and looking back over her shoulder. Sam appeared over the roof of the impala, saying something Dean couldn’t quite hear and looking pissed. Dean swayed under the rush of hope that washed over him.

“Sammy!” he waved his arm, nearly losing his balance with the effort. Shit, he was weak. “Sammy!”

Sam’s head snapped up and Dean could read the naked relief on his face from a hundred feet away. “Dean?”

“Yeah!” He waved like an idiot. “I got Cas here but he’s pretty messed up. Come help me carry him?”

Sam was already jogging down the overgrown bank toward them. He skidded to a halt when he caught sight of Cas laying like a dead fish on the shore. He paused and his face went stony before he kicked back into gear. He pushed past Dean and hoisted Cas like it was nothing, carrying him up the bank towards the car. Dean stumbled after him, pausing when the back door opened and Kevin stepped out.

“Kevin?” Dean called. “You okay, kid?”

“I am now.” Kevin said, casting a funny glance at the curly-headed blond. The girl stepped forward and stuck her hand for a shake.

“You’re Dean Winchester, right?” she asked with a twangy drawl, smiling when he glared at her offered hand.She was taller than she’d looked on the bridge, but not by much. Her dirty-blond head just about came up to Dean’s chin and her big brown eyes made her look almost like a cartoon character. She’d pulled her mess of curls back into a bun and her clothes were a confusing mix of athletic leggings and a green leather jacket, a white button-up stained with blood and running sneakers. “I’m Nikki. Sorry about the river spirit.” She said with a self-deprecating grimace. “She was a little more… enthusiastic than I realized.”

“River spirit?” Dean repeated.

“Yeah.” Nikki nodded towards Cas where Sam was carefully laying him out in the back seat of the car. “The whole giant tsunami on the bridge thing?” Dean just blinked at her. “She was a little over-zealous but she kept you and your friend alive for me.”

“What do you mean, ‘for you’?” Dean asked.

Nikki grimaced. “Well, I mean, not _for me_ , but I asked her to-“

“Are you a witch or something?”

Nikki’s eyes widened as Dean reached for his pistol and she stepped back. Dean realized at the last second that hadn’t made it down the river either. Damnit. At least it hadn’t been one of his pearl-handleds.

“Woah! Dean!” Kevin rushed forward, jumping between them with his hands out. “Dean, she saved my life.”

Dean frowned. “What do you mean?”

“She like, healed me or whatever.” Kevin said. “I was all slashed open and she did some sort of spell, I guess, and healed me.” Kevin looked down at himself like he thought he still might be bloody. Dean followed his eyes and saw Kevin’s shirt was spotless, but with three clear slashes from shoulder to hip. Claw marks. The skin beneath was completely unmarked, smooth and healthy. Dean had seen enough blood on the bridge to know those claws had gotten hold of more than just Kevin’s shirt.

Dean glared. “Why?”

Nikki’s arched eyebrows flew up, her small mouth popping open in shock. “What do you mean, ‘why’? He was _dying_!”

“And then she led us to you.” Kevin said.

“Dean,” interrupted Sam, “We’ve got to get Cas to the bunker before anything else finds him. Nic did heal Kevin and she healed me, too.” He pointed to his knee and Dean realized he wasn’t even limping. He still looked like shit but the circles under his eyes were a little less dark. The cuts and scrapes he’d gotten on his face and arms were gone, too. “She can explain everything once we get there, but we gotta go now.”

“Right.” Dean nodded and ignored the damn witch for the moment. She’d saved their asses on the bridge, and apparently again by leading Sam and Kevin here. Good enough. He was more worried about Cas freezing to death than one little witch.

“Kevin, get me the med kit out of the back.” Kevin nodded and darted to the trunk. Dean went around and opened the other back door and looked at Cas lying across the bench seat. He was shivering again, his lips practically blue. “And my duffle.” He called, getting a grunt from Kevin. “Sam, give me a hand getting the wet stuff off.”

Sam didn’t comment, just opened the other door and started stripping off Cas’s shoes and ruined trousers. Dean carefully peeled off Cas’s shredded shirt, throwing it to Kevin to stash in the trunk. Who knew what dried angel blood was worth to some of the monsters after Cas, or what the witch could do to Cas with it.

Dean blinked.

“Can you heal Cas?” Dean asked, turning to the girl. He didn’t trust a witch but if she was handing out free healing he wasn’t going to say no.

Nikki’s face fell. “I can try. But I’m not sure it will work.”

“Why not?” Dean asked.

“I’m sort of running on empty here.” She shrugged apologetically. “I’ve used more of my magic in the last few hours than I’ve used in a year and I’m about to fall down. I can try, though.”

She moved over to the open door where Cas’s bare feet were sticking out and ran her hand over his shredded ankle. She closed her eyes and started whispering, reaching out into the air behind her with her free hand. Her fist clenched and Dean felt the hairs on the back of his arms stand up. Nic was muttering something, her lips moving rapid-fire as she twisted her wrist and pushed her palm up Cas’s leg.

It wasn’t like when Cas healed them. It wasn’t just a blink and he was all shiny and new, mint condition Cas. It was slow and creeping. It looked like someone had put Cas’s skin on a time lapse. The edges of every slash and wound crawled together in a slithering slide, swelling and crusting and receding until they all looked weeks old. His swollen eye went down and the blackened bruises slowly turned green, then yellow. When the first marks started to turn to silvery scars Nikki dropped her hands.

She was shaking, her tanned skin pale and sweating.

“Why isn’t he waking up?” Dean demanded.

Nikki shook her head. “It’s the best I could do.” She said. “He still needs a lot of rest and TLC.”

Dean nodded his thanks. “You okay?” he asked as he grabbed the spare shirt and sweats from his bag. He tossed the pants to Sam and started wiggling Cas’s arms into a long-sleeved tee.

“Fine, fine.” Nikki waved a hand at him and straightened, swaying slightly. “That just takes a lot of energy. I’ll be alright.” She reached into the pocket of her leather jacket and pulled out a candy bar. She ripped off the wrapper and shoved half of it in her face at once.

Dean manoeuvred Cas into one of his flannels and buttoned it up to his throat, then grabbed one of Sam’s from his duffle and did the same. Sam’s stupid hipster beanie went on Cas’s head and the scratchy blanket they always kept int he trunk was tucked around him like a burrito.

“Let’s get moving.” Sam said as he finished putting a second set of Dean’s socks on Cas’s feet and tucking them up on the seat. He shut the door carefully as Dean shucked his soaking jeans and dragged on a pair of Sam’s flannel sleep pants.

“Here, wait.” Nikki said, darting around a headlight. “This doesn’t take much.” She placed her palms on the hood, closed her eyes, and started to sing. It was almost a lullaby, short and soothing, and a weird little ripple shot across the hood when she finished.

“What the hell are you doing to my car?” Dean balked.

Nikki skipped back, hands up to wave away his anger. “Just a suggestion.” She said, as if that made any sense.

“What?”

“So… I’ve put a spell on it that will just sort of _suggest_ that anyone who might be watching just doesn’t really pay attention to this particular car. So cops and speed cameras and monsters after your friend will just temporarily forget to notice your _very_ cool car.” She eyed the impala with a wistful expression.

Dean blinked. “Uh… thanks.” He said.

She beamed. “No problem!” She stuffed the rest of her candy bar in her mouth.

“Why are you doing all of this?” Dean asked.

Nikki sighed. “As much as I’d like to pretend I’m just a hell of a gal and saved your asses out of the kindness of my heart,” Dean snorted, “I do actually kind of need something from you guys.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Of course there is.” He said. “And why the hell would you think we’d help a witch?”

Nikki took a pointed look at Kevin’s shredded shirt. “I mean aside from the aforementioned ass-saving,” she grinned when Sam laughed, “I was sent by a friend of Missouri Moseley.”

Dean started. He thought guiltily of the warm, wise woman who had set them on their path so many years ago. When had he last thought about Missouri?

“Missouri?” Sam asked, clearly shaken too. “Is she okay?”

Nikki nodded. “Oh she’s fine. She told… well… ok this is really complicated to explain.”

“Try.” Dean deadpanned.

“Right.” Nikki laughed. “Can we get on the road first?”

“We really should, Dean.” Sam said and Kevin nodded. “Anything could be coming for Cas.” 

Dean glanced at Cas’s pale face. “Will your suggestion work on demons?”

Nikki’s mouth pinched uncertainly. “Uhm…” she shrugged. “The river spirit killed a bunch of the monsters chasing you guys but I’m not really sure how many of them that spell will work on. And,” she paused, staring at Cas with a strange, dreamy expression, “your friend is… he’s special. He’s like a great big lighthouse calling them in.”

“Lighthouses warn ships _away._ ” Kevin said, drawing a scowl from Dean and a grin from Nikki.

“A black friday sale, then.” She amended. “Bound to bring out the worst of the worst.”

Dean could believe that easily enough. “Ok. Let’s get moving then.”

“We’re taking her?” Sam asked. He didn’t sound like he was against the idea though. And Kevin was practically vibrating at the idea.

“Yeah.” Dean motioned Sam toward the driver’s seat. “I’ll take the back with Cas.”

“Right.”

Dean took a minute to whip off his still-wet clothes - he couldn’t have cared less that Nikki was standing watching - and climb into a dry pair of Sam’s sweats. He slid in the back, bone tired and frozen solid. He took Cas’s head in his lap like he’d done with Sam so many times growing up. Cas was shaking again too and without question Sam got behind the wheel and cranked the heater as high as it would go. Nikki squished herself into the middle of the front seat with Kevin on the other side.

“Sam, give me your phone?” Dean asked, adjusting his thigh under Cas’s shoulder. Sam handed it back without comment and Dean brought up Missouri’s number. They’d both carefully transferred it over from every phone they’d had since they met the psychic, even if they’d never used it.

She picked up on the first ring and he didn’t even get a word out before she said “Trust her, Dean.”

Dean blinked. “Uh, Hey Missouri.”

“Hello, Darling.” He could hear her smiling. “I thought I told you to call me?”

“You did.” Dean flinched guiltily but Missouri chuckled.

“Don’t worry, Dean. You’ve been a bit busy the past few years, haven’t you?” Dean grunted and Missouri laughed again. “Nicolette can be trusted, I promise, honey.”

“Nicolette?” Dean couldn’t keep his eyebrows from leaping up at the name. Nikki groaned.

“Dean Winchester, you behave yourself!” Missouri scolded. “And trust that girl. Miss Delphine is a good friend of mine and I y’all need to help her.”

“Who is Miss Delphine?” Dean’s free hand settled on Cas’s beanie as he watched the angel breathing. It seemed to be becoming a habit.

“Nicolette can explain that. I’ve got an appointment, honey. You take care of those girls for me, Dean.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Dean responded automatically. Sam flashed him a grin in the mirror. “Hey, before you go-“

“He’ll be okay, Dean.” Missouri’s voice was gentle. “Your angel will be fine.”

Dean’s mouth snapped shut. _Your angel._ He wasn’t sure about that phrasing but as he stared down at Cas he guessed it was pretty accurate. Cas was their angel, the only angel that mattered as far as the Winchesters were concerned.

“Right.” He said, settling his hand more steadily on Cas’s head. “Thanks.”

“Of course, honey. You say hi to Sam for me.”

“Will do.”

They hung up and Dean took a moment for it to sink in. Cas was going to be okay. The witch was for real and Cas was going to be okay. Cas shifted, pressing his cheek into Dean’s thigh as he shivered. Dean felt a little twist of something in his gut and laid a hand across the angel’s ribs. If he could just feel him breathing maybe he could believe that Cas would really be okay.

“Missouri says ‘hi’.” He said finally. Sam smiled. “She also said _Nicolette_ is for real.”

“It’s Nikki, _please!_ ” the witch groaned, twisting around to look at Dean. “What sort of sadist names a kid Nicolette?”

“Who is Miss Delphine?” Dean asked.

“My mentor.” Nikki’s face crumpled, her lower lip trembling. “She was taken. A few days ago.”

“By who?” asked Kevin. Dean glanced at him, surprised at the note of genuine concern in his voice.

“It’s a long story.” Nikki sighed.

“And it can wait til we get back.” Sam said decisively. “We get Cas home, we make sure he’s okay, and _then_ we deal with witches with missing mentors. Sound good?”

“Good.” Dean agreed and let his eyes slip shut. He kept his hand on Cas’s ribs as he dropped into a much-needed dreamless sleep.


	5. Watching a Movie Together

Dean slept nearly the whole way to the bunker. Despite the flash of grace-healing, he was still exhausted and smelled like a wet burlap sack. Nikki’s spell worked and border patrol didn’t even notice them sliding right through. Sam scared the hell out of a gas station clerk who hadn’t seen the massive black muscle car parked at pump three. Kevin got out to stretch his legs every time they stopped. Dean woke up each time and immediately checked Cas. His subconscious seemed to be having trouble accepting Cas was safe. He supposed a few nights dreaming of Cas in dire straights had left him a little jumpy. But the angel just kept sleeping all the way through Montana. The shivering had stopped before they’d hit the border and Dean had rolled Cas onto his back, worried that he would damage his arm if he laid on it too long. That was a thing, right?

Once, near Fargo, Cas surfaced. He stared up at Dean with hazy eyes, his lips parting, but before he could say anything he was out again. Dean had checked his temperature and finally allowed Sam to turn down the heat. Kevin and Sam had stripped to their t-shirts without complaint but Nikki didn’t seem to have noticed the heater blasting. Probably something to do with that southern drawl she was sporting.

The witch was a bubbly girl, but she’d clearly been telling the truth when she’d said healing took it out of her. The first time Dean woke she was asleep, her long curly hair spilling over the bench seat to brush Cas’s finger where his hand hung off the seat. She slept nearly the whole way back, only waking for a bathroom break in Brookings. Kevin bought her some food while he was stretching his legs and she gratefully wolfed it down before falling asleep on his shoulder again. Kevin didn’t seem to mind. Dean offered to take a turn driving but apparently Nikki’s healing included the equivalent of a full night’s sleep and Sam said he was good to go. Dean was too tired to argue.

Dean barely remembered rolling into the bunker’s garage. Kevin and Sam had carried Cas inside, then Sam had come back to help Dean to his room. Despite the bit of grace healing and a day of sleeping in the impala Dean was still dead on his feet. Sam dropped him in his room and said something about helping Kevin settle Nikki in and Dean passed out before the door closed.

He woke three times in the night stumbling to Cas’s room down the hall, convinced the angel had drowned in the middle of the night. Each time Cas was fine, tucked in tight in a wide bed with clean linens and hand-warmers gone cold. He found some more stacked on the room’s little desk and cracked a few, packing them around Cas’s feet and under his arms. He checked his breathing, just stood there watching for a few minutes each time until he could convince himself Cas was really back, really okay. Death hadn’t taken him yet. The third time he gave up, dragging the desk chair over to the bedside, wrapping himself in an extra blanket and crossing his arms. He sat and watched Cas breathe until he fell asleep.

The next morning he woke early, a crick in his neck and stinking of dried river water. He raised his head to check on Cas and found the angel staring at him.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas!” Dean leaned forward, nearly reaching for Cas’s hand where it laid atop the blankets. He stopped himself, feeling weird about touching the angel now that he was awake again.

Cas blinked at him. “We made it off the bridge?”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded, a grin spreading. “We found you just in time, looks like.”

“We? Sam’s okay?”

Dean’s heart broke a little at the note of panic and hope in Cas’s voice. “Yeah, Cas. He’s not a hundred percent but he’s alive. Doing better than you or me at the moment.” He chuckled mirthlessly.

Cas lifted his hand to touche his eye, the eye that had been swollen shut when Dean had seen him in the headlights. “My eye? My leg?”

“Long story there,” Dean sighed, “We got you healed as much as we could. Your grace doesn’t seem to work, at least on you.” He twisted his back a little, glad that the grace-healing seemed to have some knock-on effects. His back should have been pissed at him for sleeping sitting up all night but it was actually pretty comfortable.

“My grace?” Cas tried to sit up and Dean finally leaned forward to offer his arm. He propped Cas up on the pillows, biting his lip as he watched Cas look himself over.

“Yeah, it’s all shredded.” Dean waved his hand at the air around Cas’s head, wondering how he was supposed to explain the cloud of grace fragments he’d seen floating there.

“I’m surprised I have any left.” Cas said quietly, turning his hands over to examine the backs.

Dean swallowed. “What happened in the church, Cas? What happened with Metatron?”

Cas closed his eyes. His breath quickened and his hand shot up to his throat, gripping himself like he was choking.

“Cas?”

“He lied to me.” Cas’s voice was small and broken. A tear leaked down his cheek. “He was trying… he was going to banish us all from Heaven. He was angry at God, angry at all of us.”

“‘Was’?” Dean repeated. That sounded like Cas had managed more than just a quick escape from the douchey little librarian angel.

Cas opened his eyes and said in a flat voice, “He’s dead.” He told Dean in halting, flat sentences about Metatron’s betrayal, his attempt to steal Cas’s grace, Cas’s last effort to stop him. When he fell silent Dean wasn’t sure how to react. He always seemed to forget that those dickhead angels were Cas’s _family_. There were his brothers and sisters. Maybe not in a way that made a lot of sense to Dean but they meant something to him, and killing them clearly hurt whether they deserved it or not. No matter how much of a dick Metatron had been, he had been Cas’s family. Dean just sat there for a moment while Cas drew deep breaths.

“How are you feeling?” he asked finally.

Cas’s brow pinched. “Astonishingly terrible.” He said, opening his eyes to look down at himself.

Dean couldn’t help the surprised laugh that leapt out of him. “Yeah, well. That’s not really surprising, considering.”

“Am I… you found me?” Cas looked around, confused. “How?”

Dean shrugged. “I think I was doing that dream-walking thing. Or you were.” He explained the dreams, a little surprised Cas didn’t remember them. When he said as much Cas shrugged.

“I was not… lucid.” He cringed. Dean put a steadying hand on his shoulder and Cas covered it with his own. “The last few days have been a blur.” He admitted.

Dean explained about the dreams, about the way Cas had looked each time, how Dean had prayed and Cas had answered. When he was done Cas lowered his head.

“Why?” he breathed, making Dean’s heart clench.

“Why, what?” Dean demanded. “Why did we come after you?” Cas nodded. Anger bubbled up in Dean’s chest. How could Cas even ask that? “You _saved_ Sam’s life!” he growled and Cas flinched. “Whatever you did, however you half-killed yourself, you saved him. Again. You saved _my_ life.” It was the truth. Cas had done it before. Probably more times than Dean could count. And he had to ask _why_ Sam and Dean would come after him when it was their turn to return the favor?

“I _failed!”_ Cas choked. He curled in on himself, rolling away so his back was to Dean.

“What?”

“I tried, I tried so hard.” Cas’s voice was small and broken. “I was trying to _help.”_ Dean’s stomach jumped.

“We know that, Cas.” He said, softening his voice and placing a gentle hand on Cas’s back. Cas flinched away but Dean wasn’t going ot be shaken off that easily. He slid from the chair to the edge of the bed, sliding a hand under Cas’s shoulder and pulling him up into a hug. Cas gave in, let himself be turned, let Dean gather him in and place his chin atop Cas’s head.

“I tried.” Cas gasped over and over again, ugly, wracking sobs shaking him as Dean just held on.

“You tried.” Dean agreed quietly when Cas’s tears began to slow. “That’s all you can do, Cas. Hell, if getting it right every time counted Sam and I would be just about the worst people on Earth.” Cas lifted his head to protest but Dean cut him off. “You were trying to do the right thing. You got tricked.”

“Again.” Cas grumbled and Dean couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah, well.” He wasn’t really sure what to say to that. Cas was naive. Metatron had seen it and used it and Cas had been strong enough to break that hold. “You didn’t let it happen. You saved the angels. And you saved us.”

Cas shook his head. Dean could feel it, the pain and worthless feelings that had to be rattling through Cas. Dean had felt them, standing in a barn watching a scary-ass angel stare him down. He’d felt them every minute since he’d returned from Hell, maybe even before that. He could feel them echoing in him now as he gripped Cas tight.

“We came to get you because you’re part of our family.” He said, making sure Cas heard every word loud and clear. “You fucked up. We all have. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve another chance. You deserve to be saved, Cas. Got it?”

Cas stopped breathing. He leaned back, eyes wide and searching on Dean’s face. It was so familiar, so close to the look he’d given Dean when he’d said those words in a barn in the middle of nowhere years ago. But there was so much more there now.

“You do, Cas.” Dean told him. “And we will, every time. Okay?”

Cas slowly nodded, looking down to where his fist tightened in Dean’s shirt. “Okay.” He whispered.

* * * * *

After a pair of much-needed showers and clean sets of clothes - another pair of comfy sweats and thick socks for Cas and his usual jeans and t-shirt for Dean - Dean led Cas out into the kitchen in search of food. Sam was standing behind the counter with a mug of coffee and a bowl of yoghurt and granola and he dropped his spoon at the sight of Cas upright.

“Cas!” he had rounded the counter and crushed Cas to him in a bear-hug in a blink. Cas brought his arms up hesitantly, glancing at Dean over Sam’s shoulder and getting only a smile in return. “Are you okay?”

“Not entirely.” Cas said as Sam backed up enough to look at him. “But considerably better than two days ago.”

Sam barked a laugh. “Yeah, I’ll bet.” He said. “You want some breakfast?”

Cas’s eyes widened and he gripped his middle. “Oh!” he gasped and Dean and Sam both put their hands out like they were ready to catch him.

“Cas?” Dean asked, worried.

Cas looked up at him, shock on his face. “I’m _hungry!”_ he breathed. On cue his stomach growled so loudly Dean winced.

“Have you been eating this past week?” Sam asked, already heading to the fridge and poking his head in to find something.

Cas shrugged. “I don’t know.” He admitted.

“He’s been a little out of it.” Dean explained, throwing Sam a warning look and getting a quick nod in return. They’d talk about what Cas had said later.

“We’ll start you off small, then.” Sam said, pulling out one of his nasty-looking pre-run smoothies and poured Cas a small glass. “Dean, toast?”

“Sure.” Dean rounded the counter and popped a few pieces of bread in the fancy four-slice thing they’d picked up. “And I’ll make a couple eggs.”

“Good. We’ll get you some protein.” Sam smiled at Cas.

Dean was in the middle of scrambling a few eggs when Kevin and Nikki appeared, the little witch wearing one of Kevin’s t-shirts, a pair of boxers Dean assumed were Kevin’s and one of the dead-guy robes.

“Hey, Cas!” Kevin smiled, stealing a quick hug from the angel. Cas blinked at him, a smoothie moustache dripping from his top lip. “You okay?”

“No.” Cas said. “But I’m alive.”

“Glad to know it.” Nikki said, stepping forward with a wide smile. “I’m Nikki.” This girl really seemed fond of a good hand-shake.

“This is the witch that fixed you up.” Dean supplied.

“Nicolette Mignionette Prudence Cunningham Bilodeau.” Cas rattled off, shaking her hand and wiping the smoothie off his face with his other hand. Whatever his grace was doing, his ability to know a full name just by looking someone in the eye was intact.

Nikki blinked and Dean couldn’t help the burst of laughter.

“Really?” he asked and Nikki scowled.

“As I said, sadists.” She sighed. “French Canadian sadists.”

“So what’s with the accent, then?” Sam asked, plopping a cup of smoothie down in front of her and one in front of Kevin. “Everyone drink up. We’re all on the mend.”

“Speaking of…” Nikki looked up and as if on cue a loud knock echoed through the bunker.

Sam and Dean shared a look.

“You told someone where we are?” Dean growled, shoulders bunching. He _knew_ he shouldn’t have trusted a damn witch.

“Relax.” Nikki sighed. “Missouri sent her, too.”

“Who is it?” Dean demanded.

“My sister.” She slid onto a stool, completely unphased by Dean’s anger. She took a slurp of smoothie and made a face at it. “She and I have both been looking for you, I just happened to find you first. She can help me explain. You want to let her in?”

Kevin hovered nervously at the end of the counter, eyes darting between Dean and Nikki. Cas munched a piece of toast and watched.

Dean glanced at Sam who shrugged helpfully. Dean rolled his eyes and pointed a finger at Nikki. “Don’t move.” He ordered and Nikki rolled her eyes right back. He slipped out into the hall, heading for the war room and the main staircase. He snagged one of the silver knives from its hiding place under the map table and took the stairs two at a time. Blocking most of the doorway with his body he cracked the door open and looked out.

A tall brunette in a navy-blue uniform with a supremely unimpressed scowl on her face stood outside, hands on hips.

“Where is she?” she demanded, tossing a stray curl off her forehead.

“Uh… who are you?”

“I’m Lou. You’ve got my sister in there, right?” Dean looked her over. He could sort of see the resemblance, the little mouth and big brown eyes. Her accent was totally different, a little French, a little southern, but mostly that broad pan-American newscaster voice.

“Who told you where to find us?” he asked.

“Nikki went missing and Missouri pointed me in the right direction. Said to tell you ‘take care of those girls’.”

Dean blinked. _Girls_. Missouri had said ‘girls’, plural. Dean frowned. He blamed the ride down the river on his missing that little nugget.

“Are you going to let me in, or what?” Asked Lou.

If he’d trusted Missouri this far he didn’t see the point in stopping here. Dean moved aside, motioning her in with one hand. She had a thick canvas duffle bag slung over her shoulder that she dropped on the floor as soon as she was inside. Her tough tactical boots were quiet on the marble stairs as she moved to the rail. Her anger faded slightly as she looked around, taking in the skylight and pendant lanterns, the grand staircase and the map table.

“Woah.” She breathed, casting a wide-eyed look over her shoulder at Dean. “Swanky.”

Dean smirked. “You a witch, too?” he asked.

Lou snorted. “Sort of.” She allowed. “Are you Sam or Dean?”

Dean twirled the knife, drawing her eyes but getting no sign of discomfort out of her. “Dean.”

“Right.” She stuck out her hand for a shake and there was the resemblance. “I’m Lou.”

“Good to meet you, I guess.” Dean shrugged, shaking her hand. “Your sister’s in the kitchen.” Lou motioned for him to lead on and Dean turned, heading toward the kitchen. He slipped the knife into the bookcase as he passed it and Lou didn’t comment. When they entered Kevin’s eyes landed on the uniform and the blue windbreaker emblazoned with “EMS” and nearly popped out of his head.

“Your sister’s a cop?” he squeaked and Nikki laughed.

“Paramedic.” She said, hopping up from her stool to wrap the taller girl in a hug. “Hey, Lou.”

“Where the _hell_ did you go?” Snapped the brunette, hugging Nikki fiercely before shoving her to hold her at arm’s length. She was nearly a head taller than her sister. “You just disappeared! Do you know how much you scared me? And look at you!” she pressed her palm to Nikki’s cheek. “You’re totally drained. What the hell have you been doing?”

Nikki bit her lip and grinned guiltily. “Oops?”

The brunette scowled at her but after a minute it cracked into a smile and she pulled her into another hug. “Jeez, Nix.” She chuckled. “Glad you’re ok.”

From where he’d stashed himself beside the door Sam glanced at Dean and Dean just shrugged, not really sure what to do about the little reunion taking place in their kitchen. Before he could decide the brunette pushed Nikki away and brushed a hand hastily across her eyes.

“Sorry,” she said, turning to Cas and thrusting out her hand again. “You must be Sam.” Cas stared at her hand for a moment before taking it in his. He didn’t shake it, just held it.

“I’m not.” He said. “I’m Castiel. Your sister used up much of her energy healing me, I’m told.”

Lou blinked, “Oh.” She glanced at Nikki.

“He’s the one that was drawing all those creatures out.” Nikki supplied. “That’s how I found them.”

“And you healed him?”

“He needed it.” Nikki said casually, stretching her arms until her shoulders popped. “He was in really bad shape.”

“Nikki!” scolded Lou.

“And me.” Kevin piped up, covering his stomach with one hand. “I would have died without her.”

“You healed _two_ people,” Lou balked, “from near-fatal injuries? In one day?”

“And communicated with a badass river spirit.” Dean added. “And shot electricity out of her fingers - that was extremely cool, by the way.”

“Thanks!” Nikki beamed.

“Plus a little ACL repair.” Sam said from beside the door. Lou jumped, apparently not having noticed the hulking younger Winchester on her way in. She spun around and her mouth dropped open as she caught sight of Sam shadowed against the wall.

“That one’s Sam.” Nikki snickered. “And I’m _fine,_ Lou, really. Slept about sixteen hours, but I’m fine now.”

Lou looked Sam up and down. “ _You’re_ Sam Winchester?”

Sam shrugged. “Guilty.” He said, clearly amused. “Nice to meet you.”

Lou straightened, tossing that stray curl back again. “Huh. Thought you’d be shorter.” She said and Sam chuckled.

“So can we get down to the whole ‘who are you and why did Missouri send you to find us’ thing?” Dean asked, glad to see Sam had plated up the eggs in his absence and not let them burn. He piled them on a pair of plates and set them on the counter, motioning the girls to take the stools.

“Yeah, of course.” Nikki said, digging right in. Lou considered the plate, glancing warily back at Sam before slipping onto the stool and shedding her jacket.

“How much have you told them so far?” she asked, picking up a fork and poking at her eggs experimentally.

“Almost nothing.” Nikki admitted. “We were sort of busy saving that one.” She pointed at Cas.

“Right.” Lou frowned. “Well, it’s a long story.”

“That’s what your sister said.” Dean told her as Sam poured the last of the smoothie into a glass and handed it to Lou.

“We’re all ears.” He said. Lou just looked at him.

“Well, we’re witches,” Nikki started when Lou said nothing. “But not the ‘animal bones and orgy rites’ kind. We’re white witches.”

“What’s the difference?” Dean asked.

“White witches communicate with nature.” Cas supplied, looking down at his smoothie cup with a faintly sick expression. “They draw on the spiritual power of the natural world by allowing the power of their souls to blend into the world around them. Their souls gather spiritual energy from all life giving freely to them. Their magic is based in love.”

“Exactly.” Nikki smiled. “We don’t steal magic from random creatures or sell our souls for it like a lot of witches do. All our power comes from inside. Although we do occasionally ask the odd river spirit for a little help.” She winked at Dean.

“Powerful white witches are kind of rare,” Lou said, taking over while Nikki stuffed more egg in her mouth. “We tend to fly under the radar. Good gardeners, good healers, that kind of thing. Not much oraginization in the community. That’s part of Miss Delphine’s mission, to get us organized enough to protect one another. A lot of us don’t even realize what we are. My sister is one of the most powerful white witches in the last five hundred years.”

“I’m just that loveable, apparently.” Nikki grinned and Sam laughed.

He glanced between them. “And you, Lou?”

“I’m more powerful than the average white witch, but not on par with a demon-worshiper. And definitely nothing like Nikki.” The way she looked at her sister struck a cord deep in Dean’s gut. She wasn’t bitter that her sister was more powerful, she was _proud_. Fiercely proud if that look said anything. Well that definitely scored her some points with Dean.

“So who’s Miss Delphine?” Sam asked and Lou winced.

“She took us in.” She said quietly. “Our dad died when I was about nine. Nikki and I ended up in foster care in the States. We were from Montreal, originally.”

“So do you have a crazy French Canadian name, too?” Kevin asked and Lou glanced at Nikki in surprise.

Nikki flopped her head back dramatically. “This one reads minds, aparently.” She hitched her thumb at Cas.

“Louise Camille Adalene Cunningham Bilodeau.” Lou supplied. “Just Lou if you want to keep your testicles. Our dad was Brett Cunningham and our mom was _super_ French Canadian. She died a month after Nikki was born. She had a stroke. Then dad…” she shook her head. “Miss Delphine took Nikki in and eventually me, too.”

“Have you heard of Marie Laveau?” Nikki asked.

“The Voodoo Queen?” Sam’s eyebrow quirked and Nikki nodded.

“Miss Delphine Laveau is a direct descendant.” Nikki said and Sam whistled. “She’s one of the most powerful white witches in the country. She’s been living in New Orleans as a healer and a teacher for her whole life, pretty much. Someone in the system recognized me for what I was and convinced her to take me in. She’s been protecting me and teaching me how to use my magic ever since.”

“And someone’s taken her?” Kevin asked. Dean flinched. If anyone was sensitive to a mother-figure being kidnapped it was Kevin.

“There’s a coven.” Lou hissed, quiet rage in her voice. “They call themselves the Fè Nwa.”

“They’re _way_ into the orgy rites.” Nikki rolled her eyes.

“They’re disgusting.” Lou agreed. “And Miss Delphine has been throwing up road blocks for them for years. She blocks their influence as much as she can. But lately they’ve been making big moves down south, expanding into new cities and recruiting young witches to their cause.”

“What is their cause?” Sam asked.

“We’re not sure.” Nikki said. “We thought for a while it was just a pyramid scheme, more powerful witches sucking the life out of the young ones to bolster their own power.”

“Lovely.” Dean made a face. Frigging witches.

“They’re disgusting.” Lou hissed. “But something’s going on there. Some of the young ones are popping back up now, more powerful and all singing the same song. The Fè nwa are family. The Fè nwa are the future. The Fè nwa are the coming night and no one is immune to the great shadow.”

“Sounds awfully Game of Thrones-y.” Sam commented.

“And now they’ve taken Delphine.” Nikki sniffed.

“Why?” Dean asked.

“We don’t know.” Lou admitted, sharing a worried glance with Nikki. “But it can’t be good.”

“I don’t imagine so.” Cas said as he casually stole Dean’s toast.

“For years now Miss Delphine has told us that if anything happened to her we should find the Winchester boys. Missouri has talked about you for years.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Dean scoffed.

“You save the world, right?” Lou shrugged, looking skeptically at Sam. “That’s what Missouri says.”

“Once or twice.” Sam said with a self-depricating grin.

“I make it four if we’re counting Cas’s.” Dean said, glancing at Cas for confirmation.

“You got Death to spare Chicago.” Sam said, looking at Dean and counting it off on his fingers. “You and Cas saved that town Uriel wanted to smite.”

“That was Dean’s choice, not mine.” Cas disagreed.

“You wanted me to make that choice. That counts.” Dean told him. “We got all the horsemen.”

“Cas stopped Raphael from winning the war in Heaven.” Sam continued, putting up another finger. “That definitely would have ended the world as we know it.” Cas nodded but looked down at his hands.

“You and Bobby stopped the Croatoan shipment.” Dean told Sam. “There’s at least North America.”

“You said no to Michael and helped me jump with Lucifer. We all killed Dick Roman and stopped the Leviathans taking over.” Sam smiled at Cas.

“Cas kept the angels from falling and we stopped Crowley from being a total dick for a while.” Dean finished.

“And you’ve saved countless individual people as well.” Castiel told him, an earnest light in his eyes. Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “And each seal you prevented from breaking saved lives.”

Sam looked down at his fingers. “Four whole worlds and a half dozen major cities? I suppose it depends how many you take off for nearly causing the end of the world ourselves.” Sam shrugged and Cas flinched. Dean shrugged back and glanced at the girls, finding them both staring with identical expressions of shock.

“Well,” said Lou, clearing her throat and pushing her plate of eggs over to Nikki. The blond dug in with gusto. “That’s quite a resume.”

Sam chuckled. “You should hear the rap sheets.” He said and Lou smiled. She looked a lot like Nikki when she smiled, Dean noticed.

“We were hoping you would help us get Miss Delphine back.” Lou said.

“And maybe shut down the Fè nwa for good.” Added Nikki.

Sam, Dean, and Cas shared a look.

“Well I’m in.” Kevin chimed in and Dean threw the kid an incredulous look. “What?” Kevin balked. “She saved my life.” He looked at Nikki and Dean saw a suspicious glint in his eyes. Magic based on love, alright.

“And mine.” Cas said quietly. He looked up at Dean, eyes wide and serious. Dean looked at Sam and Sam shrugged.

“We got any leads?” Dean asked.

Nikki blew out a sigh. “Lou?”

Lou pulled out her phone and pulled up a video file, holding it out for them to watch. She hit play on a grainy security camera capture of some kind of shop. A dark-skinned woman with her hair up in an intricate twist of braids was behind the counter arranging some sort of dried flowers on a cloth when the front door burst open. Black smoke roiled in and the woman - Miss Delphine, Dean assumed - threw her hands up. A blast of white light flashed, the whole screen obliterated formoment and when it cleared she was gone. The door slowly swung closed and the video cut out.

“That’s the last footage we have of her.” Lou said, face grim. Nikki sniffled and Dean looked over to see she was crying. Kevin and Lou each put an arm around her.

“That was a demon.” Cas said and Dean nodded.

“Sure looked like one from here.” He agreed.

“If we’d finished the trials…” Sam breathed, his face pale and eyes tight.

Dean cut that shit off right there. “You’d be dead and this coven would still be active.” He snapped. “We’ve got nothing more than that?” Dean asked the girls.

Lou snorted. “That and the names and addresses of just about every witch in New Orleans.” She said, reaching into the pocket of her coat and pulling out a two page typed list. She dropped in on the counter and pointed to the green highlighter striped acros the page. “Highlighted ones are the ones we know had a grudge against Miss Delphine.”

Dean had a look. About twenty-five names were highlighted on the first page. “Well that’s a start.” He said.

“You’ll help us, then?” Nikki sniffled.

Sam and Dean looked at each other and finally Sam nodded. “Yeah.” He said, “We’re in.”


	6. Going Shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long pause. Obviously the world’s a little nuts right now. But I’m back and I’m planning on picking this up again. I don't know if I'll be able to post daily but I'll be moving as quickly as I can.

“Are you sure this is necessary?” Cas asked, glancing at the red glow of the Target sign with distaste. It was the first time Cas had been out of the bunker since they’d rescued him and he seemed eager to get back.

“Unless you want to keep wearing jeans that won’t stay up, yes it is.” Dean chuckled. He stretched. The drive up to Lincoln wasn’t a long one for a Winchester, but he was relishing a little time in the sunshine. Despite the fact that the bunker was designed to house hundreds of people it was suddenly crowded. There were dozens of rooms they knew about and probably a few dozen more they hadn’t explored yet, but for the last few days Dean couldn’t seem to find one without a witch, prophet, or giant Sasquatch of a little brother in it. The witches had been told not to wander - “y’all have a _dungeon?”_ Nikki had gaped - which meant they were pretty well confined to the war room, the library, and the kitchen. Sam and Kevin had been going through Lou’s list with them but It didn’t leave Dean with much to contribute besides cooking for everyone and pinging popcorn off Sam’s head when he fell asleep over his laptop. Nikki at least usually joined in with that activity. They were still all healing up, which meant they couldn’t just jump on the road and get hunting, and besides, Dean didn’t really feel like hunting down a high-level demon with nothing to go on. When Sam had suggested it Dean had jumped on the chance to shoot up to Costco to restock the Bunker’s dwindling pantry and dragged Cas along in hopes some fresh air would help him perk up a little.

Cas had confirmed the first day that for all intents and purposes he was mortal, just a regular human. Nikki said that the cloud of grace had dissipated, apparently she could see that sort of thing all the time. Whether it had scattered or hidden itself away in him somewhere it would no longer be a beacon to every monster west of the Mississippi and Cas was safe to get out again. He was healing, if at a horribly human rate, and starting to look a little more like himself. He had a perpetual five-o’clock shadow but his eyes were sharp again and he didn’t look exhausted all the time. Dean wasn’t sure if Cas was just stunned or still stewing in the guilt of Metatron’s manipulation but he’d become worryingly passive over the last few days. Whatever someone suggested he went along with, food, clothes, even when to shower and when to sleep. Dean was hoping it was just shock and he’d shake it off after a while but in the meantime he was doing his best to distract Cas. They’d already been to the Costco, filling the trunk and half the back seat with food and next on the agenda was getting Cas some clothes and supplies of his own.

“C’mon, man.” Dean patted the ex-angel’s shoulder as he steered him towards the wide glass doors. “It’s probably going to take a while before you can be comfortable with all the annoying human stuff but having some clothes that fit will help.”

Cas didn’t look convinced but shrugged and let himself be steered.

Dean knew his point was solid. Cas’s normal holy tax accountant get up had been totally shredded even before the ride down the river. Since Sam’s clothes swamped him and Kevin’s jeans left him with about four inches of bare ankle showing Cas had been borrowing Dean’s clothes. They were a decent fit but he’d needed to cinche the waist of the scuffed jeans he was borrowing pretty significantly with one of Kevin’s belts. Dean would admit he got a kick out of seeing Cas wandering around the bunker in one of his old band tees and a too-big flannel, but he chose not to examine that too closely.

The industrial aircon of the Target slapped them in the face as they headed in, Dean snagging one of the carts from the rail on the way past. He had a list of odds and ends Costco didn’t stock to get through so he headed straight for the grocery section. Cas wandered behind him, taking in the shelves with a neutral expression. Now and then he would pick something up and stare at it, then carefully put it back.

“You see anything you want?” Dean asked after the fourth or fifth time. He stacked some of Kevin’s nasty energy drinks in the cart.

Cas just shrugged.

“I know you don’t really have favorite foods or anything yet,” Dean said, “but if you want to try anything just throw it in.”

Cas shook his head. “I wouldn’t know what to try.” He admitted.

“Just grab whatever looks interesting.” Dean suggested, grabbing a few packs of beef jerky off the discount rack. The Impala’s stash of road snacks had been sorely depleted over the last month or two and he figured they’d better stock back up if they were heading to New Orleans in a few days. He turned to find Cas holding a bag of chocolate-covered coffee beans and plucked them from his hands, dumping them in the cart with a smile.

“See?” he grinned.

Cas shrugged. As they made their way through the aisles and Dean picked up all his and Sam’s favorite car snacks Cas slowly added a few things too. A few boxes disgustingly healthy-looking granola bars in different flavors, a pack of mustard-flavored pretzels, weird little cheese things Dean was pretty sure needed refrigeration, some super sour gummy candies, and a big box of graham crackers with a cartoon bee on it with a speech bubble saying “Real Honey!” all went in. It was a weird collection of stuff but Dean kept his mouth shut about it. He’d said whatever looked interesting and if Cas was taking him up on it he wasn’t going to do shit to stop him. Plus, the bee thing made him smile. As they passed a rack of trail mixes he grabbed that spicy one Kevin liked and a bag of honey-roasted peanuts for Cas to try.

By the time they made it out of the grocery section the cart was about half full and Cas had a little more pep in his step. Dean led him towards the clothing section and parked their cart near the edge of the main aisle. Cas slowed, his eyes widening at the racks and racks of different clothes. Dean glanced at him and Cas actually gulped.

“C’mon, man.” Dean said, trying to sound encouraging. “They’ve got dressing rooms at the back so you just pick whatever looks good and then try it on. If you don’t like it you don’t have to buy it.”

Cas reached out and tentatively touched a pair of chinos on the nearest stand. “Where do I even start?” he mumbled and it hit Dean. Cas had never had to think about clothing before. Yeah he’d worn it over the years, but he’d always been provided with it, just told what to wear. Jimmy’s get up was practically a part of his vessel, never a choice he made. Even when Cas was Emmanuel Dean figured his wife - that Daphne chick - probably just laid his clothes out on the bed every morning like June Cleaver or some shit. And now, newly human, and after all the crap they’d been through, a rack of fucking chinos was scaring the shit out of Cas.

Well, fuck that.

Dean dropped a hand on Cas’s shoulder and squeezed. “It’s not that hard.” He said, keeping his voice light. “There’s some stuff that everyone needs so we start there.” He showed Cas the aisles where the plain packs of t-shirts were stacked and grabbed a couple in his size, one plain white and one with some grays and blues. Underwear was easy, too. Since Cas couldn’t try on any styles to see what he was most comfy in Dean dropped a pack of boxer briefs and a pack of traditional boxers in the cart. He’d be damned (again) if Cas was gonna be running around fighting monsters in tighty-whities so those got a hard pass. Dean had plenty of old sweats for Cas to have but he threw in a pair of flannel pj pants just for fun. They had little bees on them and Dean couldn’t resist.

Dean calmly explained the different types of socks, which ones he wore for tracking a werewolf through the woods and which ones went with his FBI threads and why. A few packs of each got added to the pile along with a cheap pair of dress shoes in case Cas needed to play a G-man anytime soon. A pair of nice hiking boots was on sale, steel-cap and waterproof so Dean made Cas sit on a bench and try on a couple pairs.

“Waterproof shoes are good but keeping water out usually means keeping sweat in. That means you gotta remember to take them off and let your skin breathe sometimes, too.” Dean said as Cas carefully put the box in their cart. “Otherwise your feet will itch like all hell and you might loose a couple toenails. Plus they’ll stink.”

Cas nodded.

“Now,” Dean pushed a hand through his hair as they headed towards the denim, “real clothes. Most people get to dress for fashion, just grab whatever they think looks cool but that doesn’t work for us. There’s a few rules to keep in mind. First: hunters gotta dress for protection. Sam and I wear jeans a lot, right?” He tugged at the thigh of the ones he had one to show Cas. Cas nodded again. “Well, there’s a reason for that. Denim is thick. It looks and smells clean for a few days at a time as long as you’re not crawling through a sewer or anything. It’s hard to tear, and it’s pretty easy to get stains out of. Claws and teeth and bushes and shit aren’t going to get through it as easy as some other fabrics. Plus the more it fades the cooler it looks so it lasts a long time. The same goes for flannel.”

He held up a pair of dark jeans to Cas’s waist, trying to figure out exactly what size he was. Smaller than Dean, that was for sure. But then Cas didn’t regularly consume cheeseburgers and pie and wash it down with the better part of a six-pack so maybe that would change as he settled into humanity. Dean choked down a chuckle at the idea of Cas getting chubby now that he had to rely on a human metabolism.

“There’s lots of different styles of jeans and that brings me to point two: comfort.” He threw the pair he was holding over Cas’s shoulder and picked up a few more. There was a dark gray pair that looked pretty cool - those went over Cas’s shoulder too - and a ridiculous pair of skinny jeans at the end of the rack. He picked them up to show Cas.

“These,” he said, showing Cas the ankles, “are going to be uncomfortable as fuck. They’re gonna stick to your legs and make it hard to move. We’ve got to be able to run, to climb and dodge stuff coming after us. Plus you would look like a douche. Skinny jeans are a big no.” He put them back but added the gray ones. “So are super baggy ones. They’ll get snagged on stuff and get in the way when you’re running. Straight-leg is your best bet. You want them tight enough in the waist that you don’t need a belt but loose enough that they’re not pinching you.” He glanced at Cas to find the ex-angel’s expression tense and focused, like Dean was relating some vital shit right now. So Dean kept going. If it made Cas feel a little more solid in his skin Dean would explain every limited thing he knew about human fashion.

“Rule three: layers. It’ll help you deal with different temperatures, and it’s saved our asses a few times, too.” Dean flapped his open overshirt at Cas. “Here, I’ll show you. Grab this.” He offered Cas his shirt-tail and Cas took it. “Now pull.” Cas did as he was told and Dean rolled against it, sliding easily out of the sleeves and slipping free in one fluid move. “If something’s got you by your top layer you can just slide right out. But, if you need to you can button it up and not have any edges to grab. And like I said with the jeans it’s tough enough to not tear easy. Get it?” Cas nodded and looked at the flannel in his hand like he’d never seen it before. Dean took it back and shrugged it back on.

“And rule four: try to blend in.” He picked up a neon yellow t-shirt that had some bullshit about ‘swag’ on the front and outlines of palm trees to show Cas. “Anything with crazy colors or weird pictures on it is gonna draw attention and make it easier for people to remember you. When we’re on a job we want to be as forgettable as possible. Tons of people wear jeans and t-shirts so that’s usually a good choice if you’re not sure, as long as you’re not going anywhere fancy. And plain, dark colours and boring patterns are your friends.”

“But Dean,” Cas spoke up for the first time, pointing to the faded Black Sabbath t-shirt he was currently wearing. Dean had loaned it to him his first day in the bunker and he’d noticed Cas gravitated towards it. Maybe because it was the softest one Dean owned, or maybe he just didn’t know which of Dean’s clothes he minded sharing. “Many of your shirts have writing and pictures on them.”

Dean smiled. “Band shirts are different. If it’s a band you’ve heard me play in the Impala, it’s okay.”

Cas frowned down at his shirt.

“I see.” He murmured in a voice that said he absolutely didn’t see.

“It gets weirdly complicated pretty quick, Cas.” Dean explained with a laugh. “Humans have all sorts of rules that don’t make any sense, and not just about clothes. I’m just giving you the basics here, what stuff we wear on cases. If you want to try something else, just go for it.” He waved an arm at the racks. “And you can wear whatever you want in the bunker. Go on, what looks good?”

Cas glanced nervously at him before taking a tentative step forward. Dean followed him as he wandered slowly through the aisles, touching things here and there to test their softness. When Cas ran his fingers over a gross nylon bomber jacket thing and made a face Dean quietly explained the difference between natural and synthetic fabrics and gave him a quick rundown why he might choose either. As they went Dean noticed a pattern. Soft things kept drawing Cas’s fingers over and over. Polar fleece, new sweatshirts, even a few fancy cashmere-type sweaters. Of course it was Target so Dean doubted there was much actual cashmere in any of them, but they were soft and looked warm. The third time Cas touched the same royal blue sweater Dean plucked it off the rack. It was bulky, loose-sleeved and not really fit for case work but definitely useful against the constant chill that permeated the bunker.

“You wanna try this one?” Dean suggested, taking a peek at the label. He blinked at the price tag - apparently this Target _did_ have a few things with real cashmere - but didn’t comment. If Cas picked it out they were damn well buying it.

“Isn’t it too bright?” Cas asked, looking sadly at the rack of different gray and tan sweaters behind him, all much less eye-catching than the blue number.

“Maybe for when you’re trying to blend in, but you can have some stuff just for yourself. When you’re relaxing and shit.” Cas didn’t look convinced but Dean added the sweater to his “try on” pile anyway.“I don’t wear my dead guy robe out in public, you know.” Cas tilted his head as if considering that.

Finally, when they had a stack of stuff for Cas to try Dean led him to the dressing rooms and told him what to do. While he was waiting for Cas to change he smiled and thought of Charlie and her fashion montage. She’d get a kick out of all this. He’d have to give her a call and check in soon. Make sure she hadn’t gotten herself hired by any megalomaniacal monsters lately.

When Cas stepped out of the dressing room Dean had to blink. Cas looked so… normal. His hair was standing up all crazy but other than that and the nervous way he tugged at the hem of his shirt he looked like any normal dude. The jeans fit well, hugged his ass and thighs pretty nice but not so much he wouldn’t be able to move. The red flannel he’d picked looked good over Dean’s t-shirt and overall he just looked… human.

Dean swallowed the lump suddenly blocking his throat and stood up. “Not bad.” He grinned. “What do you think? Can you move in it?”

Cas shrugged. “It feels,” he twisted at the waist, dropped into a quick squat. Dean’s chest did a weird little thing as Cas’s head was suddenly right at crotch height but the ex-angel popped back up and shrugged. “It feels alright, I suppose. Strange.”

Dean jerked a nod. “Yeah. I can’t really help you with that part. New clothes always feel weird for a while. You just gotta get used to ‘em, and maybe give ‘em a wash or two. Go try some more.”

Cas slowly worked his way through all the clothes, finally emerging in the blue sweater he’d been so fixated on. When he pulled back the curtain he was grinning and Dean couldn’t help a laugh. They’d clearly gotten the sizing wrong. The sweater was marked medium but it was massive, the sleeves nearly swallowing up Cas’s hands and the hem hanging halfway down his thighs.

“Dean, it’s so _soft_!” he said, pushing the sleeves up to bunch at his elbows.

Dean laughed again. “Yeah, looks comfy.” The blue was nice against Cas’s tanned skin and it made his shoulders look broad even as it swamped him.

“It’s not very practical, I suppose.” Cas observed, mournfully tugging at the loose fabric over his chest.

“Nah.” Dean agreed. “But every once in a while you can say screw the rules and just do what you want, you know.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “Really?”

Dean nodded. “Really. One of the best parts of being human.” He grinned. Cas snorted and Dean counted it as a victory. The blue sweater got added to the ‘keep’ pile.

They got to the register with a full cart and started loading their stuff on the belt. The little cashier couldn’t have been more than seventeen and her eyes widened at the mountain of clothes.

“Someone’s stocking up.” She laughed. “No offense but you look a little old for back to school shopping.” Cas froze but Dean put a calming hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, dude had a house fire a few weeks ago.” He lied easily, drawing a look from Cas. “Lost all his stuff.”

The girl cooed as she scanned their stuff. “That sucks.” She told Cas. “I’m so sorry. Good thing you’ve got your boyfriend looking out for you!” She winked at Dean and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He got it all the time with Sammy so he guessed he wasn’t really surprised to get it with Cas, too. They were practically brothers, after all.

Cas wasn’t as ready to let that slide, it seemed. He tilted his head at her. “Dean is not my boyfriend.” He said. The poor girl turned bright red and nearly dropped the shirt she was holding.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” she tittered.

Dean smiled easily and shook his head, slinging an arm around Cas’s shoulders casually. “Nah, don’t worry about it. We get it all the time.”

The cashier looked hesitantly back and forth between them and twitched a nervous smile. “Really?” she asked.

“Really.” Dean assured her. He leaned across the belt and put a hand to his mouth, whispering plenty loud for everyone in a ten foot radius to hear. “Truth is he’s way out of my league, you know?”

She laughed and Cas cocked his head again but Dean patten him on the shoulder and he stayed silent.

After a slightly eye-watering swipe of one of the scam cards they bagged up their stuff and steered the cart out into the parking lot. They crammed everything into the back of the impala and Dean checked his phone as he turned the engine over. There was a text from Sam.

_Sam: Nikki asked me to see if you can pick up some tampons. Don’t be a dick about it, okay?_

Dean scoffed and typed a quick reply.

_Dean: What brand and size does she use?_

Sam’s reply was nearly instant.

_Sam: Really? You’re not going to be all dramatic about buying feminine products? I thought you’d throw a fit._

Dean rolled his eyes.

_Dean: You know I lived with Lisa for months, right? I’ve literally split a pizza with Death and you think a chick having her period is going to freak me out?_

_Dean: Just tell me what she wants and we’ll grab it._

_Sam: Cool. I’ll ask her._

“Dean?” Cas asked as Dean slid his phone onto the dash. He had seen a Walgreens near the highway they could stop at and grab the few medical supplies he hadn’t been able to get at Costco and Nikki’s tampons.

“Yeah?” Dean asked as he pulled out onto the main road.

“What does ‘out of my league’ mean?” Cas asked. Dean glanced at him but Cas was looking out the window. “I’ve heard you use the phrase before but I’m not sure I understand it now.”

“Oh.” Dean cleared his throat, wondering why he was suddenly all fidgety. It had just been a throwaway phrase to make the poor cashier feel less embarrassed. The fact that it was pretty damn accurate too was just a coincidence. “Well, it’s a sports thing originally. Out of your league means you’re playing against someone way better than you, up on another level of competition, you know?”

Cas nodded “You said that about fighting angels once.”

Dean tried to think back but couldn’t remember. “Yeah.” He said anyway. “Hard to imagine humans having level footing with soldiers of God, right?”

Cas finally turned to look at him, that same familiar stare he’d pinned on Dean so many times. “Yes.” He said. “It is an incredible thought.”

“Well, that girl in the store was embarrassed, so I made a joke to make her feel better.” Dean explained, keeping his eyes firmly on the road.

“A joke?”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded. He wished Cas would just drop it but the guy had questions. Dean could’t just shut him down the first time he actually asked one. “When you say someone is out of your league and you’re talking about dating it means they’re too good for you. Like you wouldn’t have a shot with them because they’re hotter, or smarter, just a better caliber person than you are.”

“I see.” Cas fell silent again and Dean shifted his shoulders. The car suddenly felt nearly as crowded as the bunker and Dean rolled down the window for some air. They stopped at the Walgreens, grabbed the few things they needed and were back on the road headed for home in no time. Cas was silent the whole way home and Dean tried not to twist in knots about it. This was the most he’d gotten out of Cas since that first day, and if the guy shut back down a little bit it was still progress.

They were still headed in the right direction.

As they pulled into the bunker’s garage alongside Lou’s little blue subaru Cas’s stomach grumbled so loudly that he put a hand over his middle.

“Hungry there, Cas?” Dean chuckled.

Cas glared down at his stomach. “I thought it was nausea.” He admitted. Dean winced. He couldn’t really fathom what it was like for Cas, trying to figure out what all the weird aches and pains running through his body meant. He’d only been human for a few weeks that first time, and they’d been so tied up with Lucifer and the Apocalypse he hadn’t really had time to learn much about how to handle it. Well, Dean and Sam weren’t going to let this whole witches and demons thing eclipse Cas’s situation this time. They would help him through this. He was family, damnit.

“Well, we’ve got plenty of food. Let’s get unpacked and I’ll whip you up something.” Dean grabbed a few bags from the back, including Cas’s new clothes and Nikki’s supplies and headed in. Kevin and Sam could unload the rest. Payment for sitting their lazy asses at home while he did all the shopping. 

Sam was already climbing the stairs, the witchy sisters on his heels when Dean and Cas entered.

“Hey guys, welcome back.” Sam smiled. He still had some dark circles under his eyes but he looked okay otherwise.

“We miss anything important?” Dean asked. “Any major disasters hit the world while we took a drive?”

Sam shook his head. “Nah. Unless you count cramps.” He smiled at Nikki who was holding Dean’s hot-water bottle against her middle.

Wordlessly Dean passed her the walgreen’s bag with a wink and she slumped in relief.

“You’re a frigging life-saver!” she squealed and threw a hug around Dean’s neck, squishing the hot-water bottle between them. He laughed and hugged her back.

“Figured it wouldn’t be the best idea for the girls to head into town since Nikki’s still on the most-wanted list. Sinceyou were already out…” Sam shrugged.

“Yeah no prob.” Dean assured Nikki with an extra squeeze. He had already grown pretty fond of the little witch. She charmed her way out from under Lou’s protective eye and teased Kevin mercilessly. She matched Sam sass for sass and Dean joke for joke. Plus she always had a kind word for Cas when he decided to join them in the land of the living. Dean could see how pretty much anyone could love the girl.

“Picked up some midol and chocolate bars, too. Figured you might need them. And if you don’t I’m sure Sam will next time he throws a bitch fit.”

“Lifesaver.” Nikki repeated with a wet kiss to his cheek.

Cas made a little noise and Dean turned to find him staring wide-eyed.

“There’s a whole car to unpack. Cas is starving so I’m gonna make lunch. Anyone else interested?”

“Me!” called Kevin from the library door. He was holding a stack of papers and had a pen behind each ear. Dean wondered if he realized they were both there.

“Girls?”

“Count me in.” Lou said, raising an eyebrow at Sam.

Sam nodded. “As long as it’s not completely dripping in grease.”

“I could eat a horse.” Nikki agreed, setting her bag aside and following Sam and Lou out into the garage.

Dean dropped Cas’s clothing bags by the hall to the dorms and led him into the kitchen. Cas had gone silent again and Dean didn’t push as Cas took a seat on one of the stools. He looked tired, the little lines around his eyes carving deeper as he stared at his hands on the counter. Dean pulled out everything he needed for french toast - it was one of the few foods Cas had shown any interest in since his fall - and set to, flicking the stereo on in hopes of distracting Cas. Normal radio waves didn’t reach through the reinforced concrete shell of the bunker so Dean was left with Sam’s old ipod to choose from. Luckily there was a soul playlist that wasn’t too terrible. Aretha Franklin, Etta James, James Brown, that kind of thing. He put that on and got to work.

Just as the bacon was getting crispy and Bill Withers was accusing some girl of using him up the others piled in. Nikki had a candy bar open and half-eaten and was looking much happier for it.

Dean dished out Cas’s plate first, smiling as he nudged the syrup closer to the ex-angel’s hand. Cas gave him a nod and picked up his fork.

“You guys find anyone good on that list yet?” Dean asked. “Anyone looking like our guy? Or gal?”

“No.” Sighed Lou. Her hair was down for once and she tossed it over her shoulder and leaned her chin on her hand. “I’d already gone through it a few times before we even got here but I was hoping a few sets of fresh eyes might see something new. But I just can’t think any of those witches are powerful enough to take on Delphine, even with a Demon’s help.”

Dean sighed. “Looks like we’ll just have to do it the old-fashioned way. Get down there and root around til we shake something loose.”

“And try not to get killed too many times in the process.” Sam joked from where he was slicing up some berries and adding them to the plates of toast Dean laid in front of everyone. When Dean set Nikki’s down she snorted into her snickers.

“I gotta say,” she grinned, picking up her fork and digging in with gusto. “Gourmet french toast and tampon runs were not exactly what I was expecting from the infamous Winchester brothers.”

“Infamous?” Dean grinned at her. “You make us sound pretty cool.”

Sam rolled his eyes as he leaned against the counter with his own plate. “Come on, Dean. We knew our reputation in the hunting world is a little… less than stellar.Most hunters don’t even believe half the shit we’ve done. There’s probably not many of them out there singing our praises.”

“Well we wouldn’t know about hunters much. Even white witches have to steer clear of them just in case they start getting twitchy. No, I read the books!” Nikki chirped and Sam’s head swivelled. He blinked at her, horror in his eyes.

“The… the books?” he repeated in a dead tone. The look on his face would have been hilarious if Dean hadn’t felt a hole open up in his stomach.

Lou couldn’t contain a grin. “She found them second-hand when Delphine first told us about you.” She explained, popping a strawberry in her mouth. “Haven’t had the time to go through them myself yet, but Nik’s given me a rundown. So, yeah, infamous.”

“One of these days I really am going to _kill_ Chuck.” Dean growled, not missing the way Nikki’s eyes skated down his torso. Clearly she remembered the full-frontal part.

“So is all that… um…” Nikki snapped her eyes back to Sam. “Is all that stuff true?”

“Some of it.” Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. He set the plate aside and Dean had to agree his own appetite had taken a hit. Sam’s brows were pinching in that way that said he was reliving all the worst reruns of their lives.

“Which parts?” Nikki asked eagerly. “The Trickster? The reapers? The demon blood?”

Sam’s full-body flinch had Lou smacking Nikki’s shoulder.

“Hey!” the little blonde protested.

“You really need to learn to read a room.” Lou told her, shooting an apologetic look at Sam.

“Oh, come on!” Nikki shook her sister off. “Clearly not all of it is true or this one would be in Hell.” She hitched her thumb at Dean and it was his turn to wince.

Dean was searching for a way to change the subject when Cas piped up. “Dean spent forty years in Hell.” He growled, sounding pissed. Dean glanced at him, surprised, to find him scowling at the little blonde with a smudge of syrup on his cheek. It wasn’t quite his smiting face but it was close.

Nikki stared back. “Wait, what?”

“Cas, don’t-“ Dean tried but Cas ignored him.

“He spent forty years being tortured in the most hideous ways imaginable and only the purity of his soul allowed him to survive it.”

“I-“ Nikki fish-mouthed, looking to Dean for help. Dean cringed. “How…”

“We fought for forty years to reach the Righteous Man.” Cas barked and if he had still been an angel Dean was pretty sure every bulb in the room would have blown. “Dozens died.”

“We?” Lou asked.

It was Cas’s turn to blink. He looked down at his hands, his normal, completely human hands, one of which was holding a fork with a soggy lump of french toast threatening to fall. “The… the angels.” He said quietly. Sam silently put a hand on his shoulder and Cas leaned into it.

Nikki’s eyes were going to actually roll across the floor any second. “Angels?” she breathed. “Like, actual angels?”

Cas nodded, whatever anger her questions had stirred up dying off.“Sam was not exaggerating when he said the Winchesters stopped the Apocalypse.”

“That was definitely not in the books.” Nikki said lamely, looking at all three of them in turn.

Cas nodded. “Chuck Shurley has continued to write well past Dean’s rescue from Hell. It’s a compulsion he must fulfill as a prophet of Heaven, but he has not been able to publish further gospels yet. I believe he’s been threatened with physical harm by these two if he tries.” Sam nodded.

Nikki blinked. “Wait, Carver Edlund’s a pseudonym? His real name’s Chuck?”

Lou shook her head. “You’re just going to skip right over the whole ‘prophet of Heaven’ thing?”

“Oh!” Nikki blinked again. “Wait, he’s a _prophet?_ ”

Dean couldn’t help a chuckle.

“Like me.” Kevin said quietly. Dean had nearly forgotten the kid was there. “It’s, well it’s a pretty shit job. But Cas is right. You really don’t have a choice but to do it.”

Nikki stared at him.

“So that’s why you’re so different.” Lou said quietly, her big brown eyes meeting Cas’s blue ones. “You were an angel.”

“I… was.” Cas agreed. All the air seemed to go out of the kitchen at once as Cas gently put his fork down on the edge of his plate. “If you’ll excuse me. I find I’m not hungry anymore.” He stood, his stool scraping softly against the floor. Dean watched him go with a pinched frown.

So much for progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a lot fluffier (and possibly much more boring) than the ones before but one of my biggest gripes with the series is how completely unrealistic I found the idea that Dean would just kick Cas to the curb on Gadreel’s say so. Yeah he needed to protect Sam but he didn’t even try to soften the fall for his best friend? Yeah, I don’t think so. So this is my chance to let Dean show Cas the humanity ropes and take care of Cas the way I wanted him to. If it’s boring TOUGH COOKIES!  
> For real, though, thanks for reading. Comments welcome, as always!


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